In Flux (Season 5, Episode 6)
by bionic4ever
Summary: (Season 5, Episode 6): Everyone's life is in flux...except Jaime. In spite of her hard work, she has plateaued. Can Steve and the doctors find a way to keep her from giving up, before Anna's handiwork throws them all into a tailspin? Thank you to the members of The Bionic Project, and special thanks to down30. See my profile for a link and stop by for a visit! We'd love to see you!
1. Chapter 1

**In Flux** - Season 5, Episode 6

Chapter One

In every way possible, it was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, birds chirped in seemingly every tree in the yard...and Becca was _laughing_! It was indeed a perfect day for Jaime to _finally_ be free of hospitals and she intended to take full advantage! ''Let's stay out here, just a little while,'' she asked Steve as she inhaled deeply. ''The fresh air smells so good!''

''There was fresh air in the hospital garden,'' Steve pointed out, smiling and indulging her whim anyhow.

''Well yes, but I was a _patient_ there...and now I'm just 'me' again...for the most part, anyway.'' There would still be daily visits from Mark Conrad and (at first) Michael, until a new bionic wing could be set up at Clayton Memorial. (National Medical had been deemed a total loss after the fire.) Jaime had spent over a month recuperating in Colorado Springs before being sent back to Los Angeles (and Clayton) to finish her recuperation. Now, on this perfect day, she was finally _free_.

After a good ten minutes spent admiring their front yard, Steve began pushing her wheelchair toward the house. Jaime shook her head. ''Gonna walk inside,'' she insisted (sounding almost as stubborn and cantankerous as Rudy).

''Sweetheart,'' Steve began patiently, ''I don't think that's the best idea.'' Michael had just begun therapy to get her back on her feet and she had, indeed, been able to take her first steps but a fall into the house would be just the disappointing setback she _didn't_ need dampening her spirits. Becca laughed again, in the carrier on Steve's back - and it was time to get her into the house as even though he'd nearly recovered from his own injuries, he was definitely starting to feel the weight he was carrying.

''I haven't been HOME in...I don't even remember how long,'' Jaime continued. Indeed, it had been several months since she'd initially been shot in the head during what was supposed to be a simple 'In-and-Out' fact-finding mission - and the set of her jaw told Steve her mind was made up. ''Gonna walk in that door!'' she repeated.

There _had_ to be a compromise!

* * *

Out of his own bed and recuperating at his Los Angeles home, Rudy too was feeling cantankerous. Both of his 'children' had been hospitalized and he hadn't been allowed to lift a finger to help them! Now (until a brand-new facility could be built), a Bionic wing was being added to Clayton Memorial, also without his being able to do anything other than give phone input...which he did as often as Michael and Oscar's patience allowed. It was still unclear when - or even if - he might be allowed to return to his life's work (and passion) but with Doctor Corinth gone, he would at the very least need to train a replacement (and one agreeable to the occasional consult) if he was to be retired. This was one thing Michael couldn't do on his own, even if he'd wanted to. For the moment, the future of the entire Bionics Program appeared to be up in the air and genuinely in flux.

* * *

Oscar (working with the FAA) had made a great deal of progress on the investigation of the plane crash...and yet they were nowhere near ready to make an arrest - or even to tack the charge onto Anna's growing list. The most likely method for having brought the plane down would have been a device planted by someone on the ground crew, programmed to cause instrument failure once the plane had hit a certain altitude - or possibly one of the passengers (or the pilots) had unknowingly carried one aboard. In either case, did Anna have the technological knowledge to create such a device? Given that she'd created several different methods of mind control, it was very likely she had the knowledge to create whatever she liked, if she set her mind to it. But when and why would such a device have been created? How had she known an evacuation plane would be needed? Just how far into the future did her plans reach - and were there more horrors still awaiting them at this woman's hands?

The investigation, although coming up with _some_ answers, was also truly in flux.

* * *

Russ had greatly improved in both attitude and self-image. He'd finally accepted what had happened to him...and what that had caused to happen to Jaime. He'd been released from the strict medical and psychological custody he'd been held under and now occupied only a regular bed, although still in a locked ward. The only obstacle remaining to him before he could finally return home was (at Mark's insistence) that he finally come face-to-face with Jaime. If all went well in the next few days, that was scheduled to happen at the end of the week.

* * *

In the meantime, Steve still needed to get his happy (but very, very stubborn) wife into the house. Her jaw was set, her eyes were firm...and there was no way he'd win this argument (so there may as well be no argument). ''Alright,'' he sighed. ''But the minute you're in the house, you need to be in bed. 'Off your feet completely', Michael said. Remember?''

''Dumbest thing I've ever heard,'' Jaime groused. ''My feet - and my legs - have no circulation. Duh!''

''It's the concept,'' Steve told her patiently. ''_Relaxation_. So that's the deal. No wheelchair - you can walk into the house - but then straight to bed. Take it or leave it.'' He had to pray she'd take it because while Colonel Steve Austin's first, take-no-prisoners instinct would have been to simply pick her up and carry her into the house despite her protests, he still wasn't allowed to do that at the moment. (In truth, he needed to put Becca down pretty quickly now too.)

''I'll take it,'' Jaime said exuberantly, already on her feet. ''Let's go HOME, Colonel!''


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Within just a few hours, the patient who had promised her doctor full compliance with his insistence on bed rest as a condition of leaving the hospital early...was not being very compliant. She had taken a nap (with only a slight amount of protest) but when Steve was in the kitchen getting Becca's dinner ready, he came out to find his (very stubborn) wife sitting in the easy chair with a huge smile on her face.

''Look!'' she crowed, before he could chide her. ''My feet are UP!'' Indeed, they were resting on the ottoman but it still meant she'd broken her promise to stay in bed. It was exactly at that moment that the doorbell rang.

Mark and Michael unexpectedly were on the stoop - and for Jaime there was no time to make her way back into the bedroom. She was _caught_. ''I'm not even going to ask,'' Mark told the Austins, shaking his head as he seated himself in the living room. (He knew Michael would have plenty to say - and by rights, as Jaime's doctor he was the one who should say it.)

''I'll go,'' Jaime offered, rising slowly to her feet. ''I'm going...''

''Sit down,'' Michael told her sternly. ''Do you know I have half a mind to put you right back in the hospital?''

''Don't you think you're being a little rough on her?'' Steve asked gently.

''And you,'' Michael said, turning to Steve, ''just a couple of hours into this and you couldn't get her to stay in bed?''

Steve's own physical pain was just strong enough to light his temper. ''Now wait a minute!'' he practically snarled. ''First, I didn't know she was out here until I just came from the kitchen and she was sitting there. But second, I really don't think you need to be coming in here and jumping all over her!''

''It's...what...'' Jaime put in, ''maybe ten or twelve steps from the bed to this chair...''

''Ten or twelve steps you took all alone, with no one helping or even watching you!'' Michael snapped. ''Maybe Rudy was right; maybe I did release you to early!''

''Rudy...said that?'' Jaime was floored.

''Of course he did. And I stuck up for you. Told him how much more comfortable you'd be in your own home, and that you could be trusted to _stay on bed rest_! Looks like I was wrong.''

''Ease up, Michael,'' Steve warned, moving behind Jaime's chair like a guard dog. In the nursery, Becca began to cry. ''She's hungry,'' Steve stated, ''but I don't want you browbeating my wife while I feed her. Got it?''

Finally, Mark had to step in. ''Nobody's going to browbeat anyone here. We can all have a quiet discussion. You too, Steve; bring Becca's high chair in here and we'll all talk calmly like adults. After all, we all only have Jaime's best interests at heart...right? And I'll go and get Becca.''

Everyone was quiet while Steve brought out the high chair and a small, sectioned dish of carrots and rice cereal. The baby's presence brought everyone's anger (and tone of voice) down by at least several notches...before anyone could become any more cantankerous and say something they didn't mean and couldn't take back.

''I let Jaime come home from the hospital sooner than Rudy would have,'' Michael admitted, ''because I knew how important it was to both of you that Becca spends her time at home, instead of in a hospital environment and with nurses half the time. I also know how tired of being a 'patient' Jaime has become...and I can keep a close enough eye on her here now - as long as she can stay compliant with what I ask her to do. And for now, that means staying in bed. Period. If she cannot do that, I have no choice but to put her back into an environment she doesn't want to be in, to ensure she receives the proper rest and care. And Steve,'' Michael was quick to add, ''that doesn't mean I'm saying _you_ aren't caring for her properly. You have your hands quite full here and it's admirable that you're even willing to try this...but if Jaime can't follow even the simplest directions, if she does things like walk down the hallway on her own when she's barely even been allowed on her feet yet...it could just be too dangerous.''

Michael nodded to Mark. He'd said his piece.

''Steve?'' Mark said quietly.

Steve was getting to be an old hand at these sorts of sessions (although not usually with Michael). ''Michael,'' he started out, ''I know you're looking out for Jaime's best interests and I appreciate that. I'm sorry that she - so far - hasn't seemed to be doing what she'd promised. But I have faith in her. She doesn't want to be back in the hospital any more than we want to put her there -''

''_NO hospital_!'' Jaime interjected. ''And...sitting right here...by the way.'' Everyone in the room could hear her speech become halting and jerky, the way it still did when she was upset or overtired. ''I'll stay...in bed. I will! I...promise. Just wanted...to help feed Becca.''

''Maybe for now, Becca could eat in your bedroom and you'd still be able to help,'' Mark suggested.

It was a start.

* * *

In his bed (in the locked ward at Clayton Memorial), Russ was turning everything over in his mind for what seemed like the 10,704th time. He accepted mind control as a fact. He knew it had happened to him in the past because he fully remembered turning Oscar over to Grant Kingsley - at gunpoint. He knew that at that moment - and when he'd shot Jaime - his hands and his actions hadn't been his own. What he hadn't told anyone yet because he was still processing it himself was that he had also fully regained the memories from the night of the shooting. When he closed his eyes, he could picture himself staring coldly into Jaime's face...and then shooting her in the head. _How in the hell do I process that, much less actually face her again_? he wondered...as sleep refused to come and give him refuge.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Jaime was doing her best to be a good 'at-home patient', following doctors' orders and even (for the most part) listening to Steve. He remembered to include her in all aspects of Becca's day and her care and tried to be as patient as possible when Jaime had her occasional longings for the outside world (that he still had to deny her for a little longer). They spent quality one-on-one time talking quietly, watching TV in bed and (of course) playing Monopoly when Becca was sleeping. They were both _truly_ doing their best. That was why, when Steve was cleaning the kitchen one night later that week and he heard bath water running, he sighed to himself and summoned up all of his patience before heading down the hall.

Indeed, he found Jaime running a bubble bath for herself. ''What are you doing?'' he asked, determined to stay calm and not accusatory or cantankerous with her (because that would only make things worse).

Jaime smiled and looked around the bathroom. ''Um...there's water in the tub. And bubbles. And I'm naked. So...I'm reading the complete works of Shakespeare.''

''Really not funny right now, Sweetheart. And you should be letting me help you with your baths; you know that.''

''One thing I _can_ do is go to the bathroom by myself. So why can't I take a bath while I'm in here? Isn't any extra steps!''

''Just that one big step, into the tub,'' Steve answered (still carefully keeping his voice level).

''Don't wanna...be helpless...'' Jaime whispered, her voice beginning to break into fragments again. ''Hate it.''

Steve quietly helped her into the tub. ''You won't be like this forever,'' he assured her softly. He could see tears pearling in Jaime's eyes that she was too stubborn to let fall. ''Talk to me?'' he suggested, perching on the tub's edge.

''Sometimes...I get outta bed...and I forget...that I'm like _this_ now. 'Cause I can still remember...being the 'real' me...the one who could _run_...and not stumble taking a few steps. Steve, I...I _miss_ the old me...and I want her back!''

Steve's heart melted...and any annoyance he might've felt at finding her being 'disobedient' evaporated. ''She'll be back, Sweetheart. _You __**will**_ be back. I guarantee it.''

''There's no...guarantee.''

''There is when the person working so hard is _you_. Because I know you won't give up until you have the life you want back again. Michael won't give up...and neither will I. So that makes three very stubborn people all with the same objective - getting you well and whole again. It's just going to take time...and patience.''

_Lots of patience..._

* * *

Rudy was having a _lot_ of trouble finding any patience. Phone reports on Jaime's (and Steve's) conditions were simply not enough for him! How taxing would it be to just get in a car and drive to their house? For someone so used to working through any conditions and any issues that cropped up, Rudy thought it was more frustrating (and thus harder on his recovery) to have to sit at home and _not know_ - at least, not know for sure - how his 'kids' were faring. His cardiologist didn't see it that way, but Rudy had just enough of a stubborn streak that he was certain he knew what was best for himself - and for Steve and Jaime. Michael was doing a stellar job working with Jaime (and Rudy knew that) but it just wasn't the same as seeing her - seeing _both_ of them - himself. Resolved, he got in his car and made the 15 minute drive, ringing their doorbell just as Jaime was getting back into bed after her bath.

''_Rudy_!'' Steve exclaimed. ''Are you supposed to be -?''

''Probably not. Alright, no I am not...but let's just say I'm dropping by to say hello.'' Rudy dropped his voice to a whisper, since Jaime's ear was not yet turned-up. ''How's our patient doing?'' he asked Steve.

''I thought bringing her home would lift her spirits,'' Steve admitted in his own whisper. ''I even pressured Michael into doing things this way, for that reason. But it just seems to be pointing out to her all the things she can't do yet. She's made a lot of progress but right now all she's looking at is what she isn't allowed - or even able - to do.''

Rudy nodded. ''I'll talk to Michael. We'll find a way to fix things.''

''If I don't get a hug in the next three minutes, I'm coming out there!'' Jaime called from the bedroom.

Of course, Rudy obliged.

The next morning, after their session with Mark, Michael showed up for Jaime's check-up and therapy with a broad smile on his face. ''Today, let's try something a little different,'' he suggested. ''I'd like you to walk down the hall on Steve's arm -''

''Can walk by myself!'' Jaime protested.

''I want you to walk down the hall on Steve's arm,'' Michael repeated, ''then let him help you through the kitchen and out the back door - into the yard. Let's see how you do outside. We'll try a little walking and movement there instead. Sound good?''

For Jaime, it was exactly the medicine she'd needed. Steve helped her outside and then seated her on the back porch swing while he went and got Becca. Then he and Becca sat on the swing together (with Becca's giggling lightening everyone's mood) while Michael had Jaime take her first few tentative steps on a surface that wasn't flat concrete, tile or carpet. When she tired (which still didn't take very long), she asked to sit down in the grass by the flower garden and Michael helped her to do that then headed over to Steve.

''How are you doing?'' he asked.

''In what way?'' Steve countered.

''Pain-wise, coping-wise...whatever you'd like to tell me.''

''Pain...well, it's pain.''

''Are you taking the meds I gave you, when you need them?''

''Sometimes. But with having to watch Becca _and_ Jaime, I would really rather stay alert,'' Steve told him.

''If you're in pain, don't try to force yourself to do more than your body is willing to do. Jaime needs to learn to ask for and accept help when she needs it - but so do you. We can send a nurse for a shift at your house - or nurses 'round the clock, if you need a good rest,'' Michael explained. ''I don't want you to feel you have to suffer.''

Steve nodded. ''Got it. And thanks.''

''How hard has it been - really honestly and truthfully - to keep Jaime in bed? Is she giving you a lot of grief?'' Michael asked in a lowered voice (while Jaime was still happily sitting among the flowers and just enjoying nature).

''Since that time you caught her and threatened her with the hospital, she's been better. We've had one or two little problems,'' Steve admitted, ''but nothing serious. She's adjusting. And I think today really helped.''

''We'll work more on getting her up and doing things - a little at a time, of course - and as she sees herself progressing, the funk she's been in will lift. I promise.''

''How did you know...she's been in a funk?'' Steve wondered.

''A little bird told me; a little bird who shouldn't have left his own nest but did a very good thing...''


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Mark had been working with Russ for weeks, getting him ready for his eventual sit-down, face-to-face talk with Jaime; now it was time to finish preparing Jaime for the same thing. For her, it would come a little easier because she already didn't blame him (saying that he'd had 'Kingsley eyes' when he shot her) but it would be difficult nonetheless, to reunite two former colleagues who now had shared such a horrific moment between them. Each had suffered greatly because of it...and now the time would soon arrive for them to begin to _heal_.

A week and a half had passed since Jaime had gone home, and Mark was continuing their mid-morning coffee and donuts sessions every day. Some days he found Jaime light and happy (and Steve looking well-rested) and other days...weren't as good. _This_ would be a _bad_ one, he could tell from the look on Steve's face when he opened the door.

''Bad night?'' Mark asked casually (looking around for Jaime, who was not in evidence).

''She's on the back porch; she's mad at me.''

''I'd think being allowed out of bed and through the house - and especially onto the porch - would _raise_ her spirits,'' Mark questioned. It was a brand-new development that Michael had finally allowed just the previous day.

''Thing is, it's all she wants to do now, is walk around the house, tending to this, looking at that, going outside, back in again...and she's wearing herself out. I told her she needed to at least choose a chair or the bed and rest for a little while...and I thought she was gonna deck me!'' Steve explained.

''I'll talk to her,'' Mark offered.

''Wear your flak suit and helmet,'' Steve chuckled.

Mark did find Jaime outside, but on the far side of the yard, past the flowerbeds - and _**far**_ past where she was supposed to be walking alone. Choosing to ignore the indiscretion (at least for now), he smiled at her instead and held up a familiar pink and white striped box. ''I brought cookies today, instead of donuts - and your favorite kind, too!'' he said cheerfully, taking a seat in the grass beside her.

Jaime looked exhausted, completely spent - and totally _cross_. She grabbed a cookie from the box without so much as the smallest smile, chomped into it...then hung her head and scowled. ''Go ahead and yell at me. I know you're gonna...so get it over with.''

''I'm bearing cookies today, not yelling,'' Mark told her. ''Why do you think I'd yell at you?''

''Because I'm sure Steve already told you I chewed his head off this morning - and because I'm all the way out here where I'm not supposed to be.''

''Well, it looks and sounds to me like you're miserable enough right now without having to listen to me yell or scold. So what's going on with you this morning?''

''I'm crabby. I hurt. I want...I want to run through this yard and see and touch every tree, smell every flower and just take in every bit of it...and I can't.''

''Jaime, right now you're very much in a state of flux. Your condition changes for the better and the worse at the drop of a hat and it must be very, very hard for you to cope with. You're going to have days when you'll have energy to burn and the will to use it right - and you'll have days where it hurts just to move. I'm guessing today is one of the latter.''

''Yeah,'' she said softly.

''And yet you pushed yourself - forced your body to move when it was telling you 'no' - why?''

''I guess...because **I** wanna decide - not my body or my stupid brain with holes in it that still have to reconnect. Me! I wanna decide for myself!''

''One thing you're definitely improving at by leaps and bounds is expressing yourself; do you realize that? You're tired, you're upset - and you're still talking to me.''

''I guess I am.''

''So those nerves connections in your brain _are_ repairing themselves, finding new paths to allow you to do new things. You just -''

''Have to be patient,'' she finished for him.

''That's right. And?''

''And know that Steve is only trying to help me. And so are you and Michael. I...I don't like getting so angry.''

''Just remember that anger is normal after everything you've been through. We've talked a lot about that. And use the outlets that you are able to use to work through it. Know that the storm is temporary and it'll pass.'' He looked up to see Steve poking his head out the back door. ''Bring the coffee!'' Mark called to him. ''We'll talk out here today.''

It was time to talk about Russ. Mark explained that he thought it was best if Russ wasn't confronted by the sight of both Austins at once; he was already overwhelmed at just the prospect of the visit. So they decided Steve could help Jaime out to the flower garden the next morning and then he would greet Russ (and Mark) alone at the door. Jaime could revel in her flowers for a bit while the initial awkwardness hopefully dissipated...then they'd all head outside together for coffee, donuts and (hopefully) _healing_.

* * *

The next morning, Russ woke early, after having been up very late, still unsure how he was going to face this day...and these two people who had been more than colleagues. They'd been his friends. Would they ever be either again? He picked at the powdered eggs with little enthusiasm because he knew that in another two hours, he'd be having coffee and donuts with Mark - and with Steve and Jaime.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Steve was already awake when Becca first stirred in her crib, so he got the baby and headed for the kitchen to fix her breakfast to give Jaime a few more minutes to sleep - and himself a little more time to think. He wished he could be sure he'd approach today's reunion with his friend in the right frame of mind. _Anna shot Jaime_, he reminded himself, _just as surely as if her finger had been on the trigger_. Not his friend; not Russ. Steve had known him for several years longer than Jaime. He and Russ had worked in the field together many times before Russ' promotion. While they weren't best buddies, they were certainly close friends. Or rather, they had been. Steve hoped that they still were.

He was just about to turn toward Becca's highchair with the bowl of cereal in his hands when he felt gentle arms snake around his waist - and lips tenderly brushed the back of his neck. ''Mornin', Colonel,'' Jaime whispered in his ear. She took the seat in front of the high chair (that he'd been just about to sit in) and he returned her kiss as he handed her the bowl, then stood behind her and made google-eyes at the baby while he massaged his wife's shoulders. Their bodies leaned toward each other for support with no need for words as Jaime spooned cereal in the direction of Becca's mouth, hoping to land at least a little in the intended target.

Still with very few words spoken (and nerves beginning to get the better of them), they moved through Becca's early-morning routine and then laid her quietly in her crib. Perhaps because of her parents' subdued moods, the child obligingly drifted off to sleep. It was time. ''You ready?'' Steve asked softly, as they headed outside toward the flowerbeds with a pretty picnic blanket for everyone to sit on.

''Let's do this,'' Jaime affirmed. ''And it's gonna be good. I know it will...''

''They should be here in a few minutes. Do you need anything before I head back in?'' Steve asked her.

Jaime gave him a smile of reassurance. ''I'll be fine - and I promise to stay right here on the blanket by my flowers. Take your time...and Steve? You'll be fine.''

A million thoughts seemed to be going through Steve's head all at once as he headed back into the house. He wanted to do this right - to make everything okay again - and the next few minutes really mattered to him. Should he shake his friend's hand...or would that instantly remind him that the same hand (albeit controlled by someone else) had held the gun that so nearly killed Jaime? What should he say? Should he bring up the shooting or wait to see if Mark (or Russ) brought it up first? When the doorbell rang, Steve found that a genuine smile and an invitation inside to sit down worked just fine.

''It's...good to see you,'' Steve offered awkwardly.

Russ could barely look up from the floor. ''You too,'' he answered quietly. ''The baby...um...Becca - she must be getting pretty big by now.''

''She'll be nine months old next week,'' Steve told him. Then there was silence. Awkward silence. As if on cue (like an actress knowing she was needed onstage immediately), Becca decided she didn't need or want a nap after all. ''I'd better check on her,'' Steve said, almost grateful for the chance to leave the room, if just for a few moments to collect himself.

''You're doing fine,'' Mark assured Russ, very quietly while Steve was in the nursery. ''It'll just get easier from here, so hang on. Don't give up.''

Russ nodded, still staring at the floor. Steve emerged from the other room with an infant in his arms who had absolutely no intention of napping. She perked up from her bout of crying and then sniffles as her Daddy carried her into the living room and when she saw Mark, she reached her chubby arms toward him and Steve handed the baby to the therapist.

''She's beautiful,'' Russ said softly, ''just like her mother.'' He finally dared to look from the baby over to Steve. ''How...how is Jaime?'' he asked tentatively.

''She has her ups and downs, but she's definitely improving with Michael's therapy. Our hope is she may not need another round of surgery after all.''

''Steve, I never meant for -''

''I know. This was Anna's doing. All of it,'' Steve acknowledged.

''Still,'' Russ stammered, ''I...I'm sorry. I should've...stopped it...somehow.''

It was as though the two men were reached across a gap they could almost but not quite bridge.

''Anna's reach was more powerful than any of us realized,'' Mark told them.

Steve nodded. ''I had the not-so-distinct-pleasure of...um...meeting the woman. The only words to describe her are words I prefer not to use. There was nothing you could've done, once she _got_ you.''

''Jaime's...crippled,'' Russ said miserably. ''I looked straight at her...I saw her face...''

The gap was grower wider instead of narrower. The bridge was missing one piece...but that 'piece' had grown impatient and instead of waiting quietly by the flowerbeds, had slipped silently into the back hallway, where she stood unseen, listening...and she'd heard enough. Jaime stepped into the living room and looked from one startled, awkward face to the other.

''Would you both just get over it already?'' she blurted out. ''_**I'm**_ the one who was shot...and I'm okay! So let's have donuts!''


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Starting that day, it seemed like almost everyone and everything was in a state of flux. After she'd broken the initial awkwardness for him, Russ found it easier to be there - and Jaime's direct approach, looking him straight in the eyes with a smile on her face, told him she held no blame toward him for what had happened. They didn't talk about the shooting that day but everyone's eyes met over donuts and coffee and all Mark had to do was sit back and let the friendships repair themselves. In the future, perhaps he'd have Jaime and Russ sit face to face and talk directly about the incident but Russ was nowhere near ready for that. He was _here_ and feeling accepted - and that meant that true _healing_ could finally begin.

Becca went from creeping to crawling at what seemed like near-bionic speed and Steve did everything he could to keep up with her, to give Jaime time to recuperate. The trouble with that was, his own body was _not_ recuperating as a result. One afternoon, Jaime smiled as she watched him 'walking' the baby across the living room.

''I'm barely having to support her at all!'' Steve exclaimed. ''She'll be walking on her own before we know it. Now you need to lie down for awhile and rest so -''

''Doctor's orders...or husband's orders?'' Jaime teased, sticking out her tongue.

''Both. Now go. Rest for awhile; I've got everything under control.'' He kissed his wife and pointed firmly toward the bedroom.

Jaime had barely drifted off when she was awakened by a tiny voice on the floor beside the bed. ''Dadadada!'' Becca was saying.

''Mamamama,'' Jaime said automatically, as she began to rouse from sleep.

''_DadadadadaDA_!'' Jaime could feel the covers moving as Becca pulled herself up to stand beside the bed, her voice sounding strident and almost frightened. Jaime rolled over...and Steve was nowhere in sight.

Jaime found him lying on the floor in the living room and called the ambulance. Michael was also summoned and met them at Clayton Memorial. ''This isn't serious,'' he explained to a nearly-frantic Jaime after his initial exam and treatment of Steve, ''but it could've been. His organs have been lacerated, bruised and battered so many times that something simply had to give. We're very lucky that he collapsed from complete exhaustion before something far worse happened.''

Tears streamed down Jaime's face. ''I tried...to help out...as much as I could,'' she said haltingly.

''You're already doing more than you should. Both of you are.'' Michael's voice grew softer. ''Please don't feel this was your fault. It wasn't. I'd suggested to Steve that he bring some help into the house temporarily, but now I'm going to make it mandatory - so that both of you can get the rest you need. I'm going to keep him here at least overnight and I'll arrange for around the clock nurses to care for both of you - and to help with Becca. It's what we really should've done in the first place.''

So it took a really bad scare to finally convince Steve that he wasn't Superman. The whole family re-bonded with the trio of nurses who had been on the ill-fated plane flight with them and learned to accept help gracefully, gratefully and (for the most part) without complaint. Steve spent some time on complete bed rest and then slowly worked his way back to nearly full-strength, one step at a time, with the help of the gym equipment in the basement.

Rudy's cardiologist realized that keeping Rudy cooped up in his house was harder on his heart (and his spirit) than allowing at least limited activity would be. He began by visiting Steve and Jaime two or three times a week (more, if he could wrangle someone to drive him), to check them over and just to visit too. He was then allowed to meet with Michael in his (temporary) office at Clayton Memorial to discuss treatment plans for his 'kids' and the progress of constructing a new Los Angeles facility. Lab work and visits to the construction site were still out, but Rudy was content in the duties he was allowed and it made him a far more cooperative patient.

Russ and Steve's friendship rebounded and even grew after Russ was finally released from the hospital. Some compared them to two old war horses, trading stories of battles won...and battles lost. It was still unclear when or if Russ might return to work and in what capacity, but he'd begun expressing an interest during his daily meetings with Mark. So a meeting with Oscar was arranged for the near future, when the farther-off future could be decided.

The only one who was _not_ in a state of flux was Jaime. ''I'm gonna take Becca for a walk!'' she announced to Jess one afternoon as the nurse was just beginning her shift. Jaime got out the stroller...and Jess shook her head.

''Let's get your wheelchair instead,'' she suggested. She knew Jaime's strength would give out in less than a block, that she'd either get vertigo and fall or pass out completely.

''No.''

The nurse kept her voice bright and cheerful. ''It's a beautiful day for a walk - and Becca can ride on your lap! She'd love that...''

''No,'' Jaime said flatly, sinking down onto the sofa. It would be a long afternoon...

* * *

''She's plateaued,'' Rudy speculated, sitting in Michael's office and discussing his latest visit to the Austins.

''She has,'' Michael agreed. ''And she's _frustrated_. She can at least get around her house and - with enough rest periods - live a semi-normal life but -''

''But that's not enough for her,'' Rudy concluded.

''Not enough for her - and not enough for me, either.''

''So you're thinking...another round of surgery?''

''I'd still like to avoid it if we can,'' Michael answered. ''Sure, we could put her in the hospital tomorrow, I could do another regeneration and hopefully she'd wake up with even more of her strength and her faculties restored - but you know we're talking major, _major_ surgery there. Jaime's body has suffered enough insults for the time being; I'm not comfortable taking the risk just yet. But I do have one other idea...and I'll need your help.''

''Oh?''

''I want to push Jaime to her limit - to the very edges of what she can do and then just a little bit further, which will likely make her nail-spitting mad at me. If I do this alone, I'm worried that she'll see me as her attacker again but if you're there at my side, pushing her too...''

Rudy nodded. ''We'll have to make sure and wear our rain gear. Sounds like some stormy weather ahead with this one,'' he chuckled.

They arrived while Jaime was still pouting on the sofa...and she poured out her frustration at the two doctors in much the stormy way that Rudy had predicted. ''Let's go out in the backyard,'' Michael suggested. ''Jess can take Becca for a walk, Steve's in the basement - and it's time for therapy.''

''Don't want to. No point.'' Jaime grumbled.

Rudy drew himself up to his full height, puffed out his chest and used his very gruffest angry-father voice. ''Do you want to get better, Young Lady? Then off the sofa and into the backyard. Now. No arguments.''

Jaime glared at both of them, then did a wobbly sort of flounce down the back hallway and outside. ''I want you to walk to the flowerbeds at as normal a pace as you can manage,'' Michael instructed, ''then walk back here to us.'' He and Rudy stood on the edge of the porch, watching her. Her steps (with nothing to brace herself on) were still slightly tentative, but her course was nearly straight and her gait was slow but steady. She turned with a bit of a wobble and made her way back and then headed for the porch swing, where she'd normally sit and let Michael do his reflex exams.

Except...today would be different. ''Now I want you to do it again,'' Michael told her. "Let's see if we can get those new nerve connections forming faster with a little good old-fashioned hard work."

''No. Maybe tomorrow, please? I'm tired.''

''Do you want to get better - or stay the way you are now?'' Michael questioned. He didn't wait for an answer. ''I need you to walk out and back again, please. Now.''

''No! I. Don't. Want To!''

They were all distracted by Oscar's arrival around the side of the house. ''I rang the doorbell but no one answered,'' Oscar explained. He looked around. ''Where's Steve?'' he asked with dark, grim eyes that also held a hint of sadness. ''I need to talk to him.''


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

''_**NO!**_'' Jaime cried, sinking onto the porch swing. She crossed her arms stubbornly and glared at her former boss. ''It's too soon and...you're not...taking Steve!''

''I'll stay out here with Jaime,'' Rudy announced, taking charge of the situation, ''and the two of you can talk inside.''

''You're here to send him out, aren't you?'' Michael asked Oscar once they were in the house.

''I need him, yes,'' Oscar confirmed. ''Is he ready?''

''Physically, he's nearly a hundred percent, but with the number and extent of injuries he's suffered in such a short amount of time, I can't guarantee -''

''But he's ready? You'll sign him off, medically?''

''Possibly - with some restrictions.''

''I can't have restrictions,'' Oscar persisted.

''What did Mark say?'' Michael questioned. ''Did you even consult with him before -''

''How about consulting with me?'' Steve injected, coming up the basement stairs. ''You don't need to ask Michael or Rudy or even Mark. Oscar, if you need me...I'm ready.''

Out on the back porch, Rudy was dealing with an equally stubborn Jaime. His first instinct was to sit down next to her, place a fatherly hand on her shoulder and empathize with everything she'd gone through and everything she had yet to face. That wasn't what he and Michael were there for, though. They'd spoken more on the drive over about why Michael was going to try this new, tougher approach and what he hoped to accomplish. A tentative timetable for how Jaime would hopefully progress had even been set up. Rudy was truly in his element when he could be helping his patients and - whether she liked it or not - Jaime's new treatment plan was now in motion.

''You need to get up now, Honey,'' he told Jaime in his most authoritative voice. When she didn't move (and only glanced back into the house), he took her hand and then her arm and gently pulled her to her feet. ''Steve can handle whatever's going on in there. Out here, let's concentrate on getting you well. We'd all like to avoid another round of surgery, if we can; I know you would too. You're on a bit of a plateau right now - and we need to try and push past that. To the flowerbeds, please.''

''But Rudy, I already -''

''_Now_.''

She shot him a wounded look but began to comply. Rudy noticed right away that on her second 'lap', Jaime's gait was slower and far less sure. Every few steps, she stopped and seemed to wobble. Finally, just over halfway there, she stopped completely...and looked plaintively over her shoulder.

''Are you dizzy?'' Rudy asked.

''No.''

''Then keep going, please; we need to really push those nerves to make their new connections.''

Jaime turned fully (with a huge wobble) to look at him. ''Tired.''

''Keep walking,'' Rudy instructed. ''Push past feeling tired and go a little bit further -''

''I can't.''

''You _have_ to. If you get a little dizzy, stop for a few moments. If you get really dizzy, I'll be here to catch you. Otherwise, I need you to keep walking, please.''

Jaime hung her head for just a moment, took a deep breath...and _**tried**_. Her feet felt like lead as she ordered her body to lift first one, then the other, almost shuffling instead of walking...but going forward nonetheless. She turned around again at the edge of the lawn - and came perilously close to falling.

''Let's sit down,'' he said, helping her then seating himself in the grass beside her. His fingers reached automatically for Jaime's left wrist; her pulse was going _crazy_. It was way too fast (and irregular) and far too weak. Rudy couldn't in good conscience push her any further until her vital signs normalized. Most patients never came fully back from as severe a head injury as Jaime had suffered. Almost none, in fact, ever became patients at all; they died on the scene. Regeneration could be a revolutionary procedure, possibly helping countless patients...but right now it all started with Jaime. They needed to find a way to keep her motivated and _moving safely_ without putting her in further danger of throwing another clot. The doctors would be walking a very fine line.

''Just rest here awhile,'' Rudy told her softly. ''Then we'll -''

They were interrupted when the back door opened and the trio who'd been inside stepped out onto the porch. ''Oh, no!'' Jaime cried when she saw Steve had changed from his sweats into street clothes. They all headed for the flowerbeds, but Steve reached Jaime first. ''No...'' Jaime repeated more sadly as Steve crouched down to kiss her.

''I have to go, Sweetheart,'' he told her. ''Maybe only for the day - but possibly a few days. A week at the most, and -''

''Steve!''

''You'll have nurses here the whole time to help you with Becca.'' Steve kissed her once more then stood up and stepped over to join the others. In truth, he was not only feeling ready and able to work, he was also grateful for a chance to just _get away_ for a little while. Jaime had been 'plateaued' (and cranky) for so long that it was wearing him out, trying to be patient. ''I'll be back as soon as I can,'' he concluded.

Jaime leaped to her feet and tried to follow as Oscar and Steve headed around the house but she didn't have enough of her strength back to keep up with them - and Michael quickly darted over and caught her as she fell.

''It's Anna again...isn't it?'' she asked miserably as Michael helped her over to the porch swing. He didn't answer. ''C'mon, Michael; you were there!'' Jaime demanded. ''And that's my husband who just left! Now, is he going back to see that awful witch...or what? _Is this about Anna_?''

''They're investigating the plane crash,'' Michael finally told her reluctantly. ''Oscar thinks they're getting close and he needs Steve's help. And...yes...the first thing he'll have to do is talk to Anna.''


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

''Sure you're ready for this one, Colonel?'' the guard asked as they made their way down the hallway toward the maximum security unit where Anna was being held. ''Word is, she prefers her men for breakfast, lunch and dinner.''

''Yeah, well she tried to make a midnight snack out of me years ago,'' Steve scoffed (with a glance at Oscar, who was walking beside him), ''and let's just say I'm no longer interested. Not buying what this particular female is selling.''

''That's what the last three interrogators she chewed up and spit out said too,'' the guard chuckled. He took out the key to let Steve into the tiny room where Anna would sit on one side of the table and he'd sit on the other. That was it; no pacing back and forth, no picking up a prisoner by the shackles, no beatings, no frills - and no escape. Basically, the two people at the table sat and talked until the person standing in front of the one-way glass decided they were finished.

The guard opened the door and when Anna saw Oscar she smiled and licked her lips. When she saw Steve...she yawned. ''Not up to another try yourself, Goldman?'' she called out as the door closed again. She'd managed to undo an extra button on her jumpsuit since the guards had left her there and now she sprawled back in the chair and leaned sideways against the wall (in what could also be interpreted as boredom) so the fabric fell open as far as she could manage.

Steve sat down and took a moment to study his subject's current attitude. Like he'd told the guard, he wasn't buying what she was selling - and the fact that she was trying so hard to appear bored (and to distract them all with her extreme sexuality) meant she still had plenty to say.

''Back _again_ for more, Lover?'' she asked with a soft chuckle. ''I know I was the best you ever had but aren't these meetings getting kind of old?''

Steve ignored her. He retrieved a tiny piece of electronic equipment from his shirt pocket and placed it on the table between them, never once breaking direct eye contact. ''You know what this is,'' he began, ''and you know where we found it. Only the service crew could've put it there, so -''

''Maybe the pilot or co-pilot did it,'' Anna countered with an innocent shrug.

''Just how many people have you _really_ controlled, Anna?''

* * *

Russ had a LOT of soul searching to do and far too much time to do it in. Not only whether he wanted to return to work but if he _deserved_ to return to work. While it was true (as Mark had pointed out repeatedly) that Oscar and Michael had returned to their careers and so, in a limited capacity, had Rudy, Russ was still trying to come to terms with the enormity of it all and what it might mean for his future...and for Jaime's. Now that it seemed (as Oscar had told him that morning, seeking his input) that there were at least two different methods Anna used to control her victims, what might that mean for his own future? Most had 'merely' been zapped by her infernal device but it appeared that Hansen had been more deeply enmeshed somehow - and that he may have been forced to 'influence' others. Russ feared the implications if he could possibly have been 'word' as well as 'machine-controlled'.

* * *

He'd only been gone for a few hours and yet Jaime was already missing Steve terribly. In her eyes, no matter how patiently they explained it to her, her doctors weren't trying to avoid another round of surgery or even testing her upper limits; they were simply being _mean_ to her! After a quick sandwich, some playtime with Becca and a session with Mark, she'd been driven to Clayton Memorial where Michael and Rudy met her in the weight room. They hoped that something different might break through her plateau (and her stubborn attitude) and were using only the lightest of weights, just to see what she could do. The trouble was, what Jaime _could_ do and what she _would_ do were suddenly worlds apart. She had never been one to give in to self-pity or to lash out before but this was a different Jaime - a traumatized, severely head-injured Jaime - and they needed to remain patient and calm to have any chance of getting through to her.

''You're _mean_,'' she told Rudy when he helped seat her at a weight bench. The older doctor stepped back and picked up his notebook.

''Try it with your left arm first, Jaime,'' Michael instructed. ''Right now it's stronger than your right.'' Jaime lifted the slight weight as requested then scowled at her doctor as he added a little bit more. ''Now try it again, please,'' he requested.

''I don't want to. Did it already,'' she replied.

''Well now we need to do it again,'' he sighed.

''_We_? So...you're gonna help me lift it?''

* * *

They'd been at it for almost 30 minutes, with Steve repeating various versions of the same question over and over...and Anna giving him the most inane responses she could come up with.

''How many?'' Steve repeated _again_.

''More than you could ever imagine - and definitely more than you wanna know about,'' the she-devil chortled.

Steve leaned across the table and grabbed her by the collar of her jumpsuit, yanking her body into an unexpected, painful collision with the table. They were now eye-to-eye over the tabletop. ''Dammit - how many?'' he demanded.

''Never took the time to count. Who knows; maybe even you're one of 'em!''


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

''Maybe _**you**_ were my very first experiment,'' Anna sneered.

The thought rattled Steve - _badly_ - but he couldn't let her see that or the interrogation might as well be over. Instead, he let go of her jumpsuit collar and sat back in his chair, mirroring her crossed-arms attitude of boredom ''I should believe that...why?'' he queried (with what he hoped sounded like skepticism instead of horror).

Anna flashed an evil grin and looked directly into his eyes. ''Because _I told you to_!''

''Doesn't work with me; sorry.''

''Maybe I've been orchestrating your every thought, your every action, ever since we first met,'' she laughed.

''Now I definitely know you're bluffing,'' Steve shot back. ''If you were controlling everything I did, why would you have 'allowed' me to marry someone else?''

''Hmmm...'' Anna never stopped smiling. ''Maybe so I could blow it all up in your faces, a few years down the road.''

''And 'maybe' I don't believe that; not for a single second!'' Steve insisted (wondering to himself if there was any possibility she could be telling the truth).

Anna chuckled. ''Wouldn't it hurt you far more to have known happiness and then have it taken away...than if you'd never known happiness at all?''

* * *

Jaime was the epitome of unhappiness. She'd 'jumped through all of their hoops' like a trained pony, testing each bionic limb with the weights after she'd first tried her left arm and now - after what she saw as the shortest possible break - they wanted her to do it all over again!

''_Really_?'' she asked for the third time.

Michael merely raised his eyebrows expectantly; he'd already answered her...and so had Rudy. He'd spent a good portion of his career working with head injury victims though and when Jaime continued to stare sadly at him, he was able to keep his voice gentle...while still tailoring his response in a way that he thought would reach her most effectively. ''Yes, really. I _really_ want you to do this because we'd all like to _really_ avoid another round of surgery for you - and I _really_ wouldn't be asking you to try it if I wasn't _really_ sure you were capable. So you _really_ need to grab that bar in your left hand and lift it. Now, please,'' he finished softly (with a combination of firmness and respect).

Jaime opened her mouth to argue...but chose to curl her fingers around the bar of the weight instead. She began raising it very slowly then (whether in defiance or truly testing her own limits, it was impossible to tell) instead of halfheartedly stopping at the midpoint, in one fluid motion she raised it all the way above her head - and held it there. For the first split-second, even Jaime seemed unsure that she was actually doing it, but when her doctors began applauding wildly she finally broke out a genuine smile of pride...and sheer happiness.

* * *

Steve shook his head. They had veered off the subject he'd been brought here to extract information about. Anna had made it _personal_ instead but he was skilled enough to try and get what he needed to know from her, as well as details about how she'd orchestrated the plane crash. ''You don't have that much patience,'' he told her. ''Do I believe you're _capable_? Absolutely. You've already proven that you have the intelligence - and the malevolence. But do I believe you'd wait this long for gratification? Not a chance in hell. No...but I definitely see you lashing out for the sake of revenge once I married Jaime...and your feelings were wounded.''

The truth (he suspected) lay somewhere in between. ''You played on Michael Marchetti's previous relationship with Jaime by 'programming' him to come between us - to steal Jaime away from me - and when that didn't work, you 'programmed' him again, to hurt her in the worst possible way you could imagine. What he did to her in that cabin, it came from your ugly, blackened soul; you put it into Michael's head! You didn't just tell him to hurt her or destroy her - you told him what you wanted done!''

''You can't prove that,'' Anna scoffed.

''Maybe not - but I also notice you aren't denying it. Want to hear what else I've figured out?''

''I'm certain you'll tell me anyway.''

''You never intended for Michael to kill her.''

Anna peered doubtingly at him. ''What makes you think that?''

''Because if you'd wanted her dead, your motive would've been to see me suffer - and any old sniper would've gotten her just as dead.'' (Steve cringed at his own choice of words, but he'd used them on purpose to make a specific point.) ''No...you had Michael kidnap her because by then it was obvious he _wouldn't_ be able to split us up...and you wanted Jaime to pay for that! So you 'programmed' him...ordered him...forced him...to hurt her in the very worst way you could possibly imagine! You intended all along for Jaime to leave that cabin alive...and _suffering_...and for Michael to go to prison. Bingo! All of poor little Anna's troubles are over...all of her 'wrongs' are avenged...with an ugly black bow on the top.''

''You left out one tiny little detail; your wife was shot in the head.''

''Yes she was...but that had nothing to do with Jaime herself. When Jaime and Michael left that cabin - and when your intentions for the two of them had been realized - that still left a huge stone unturned for you. Didn't it?'' Steve demanded.

''And what might that be?''

''You. The OSI was getting very close to finding out about you...that you weren't really dead...and about the meetings you'd been having with Jack Hansen. That was what was _really_ in those files, in the attorney's office: false information you were feeding to Hansen about your brothers, so there'd be no chance we'd ever take even another glance at you. Jaime just had the misfortune of being the one the OSI sent into the law firm that night.'' Steve was bluffing now (they had no idea what was really in those files) but it was a highly educated, experienced guess that _made sense_ and from the way Anna's face had begun to pale, he knew he was very likely dead-on. ''Just in case we found you and your machine, you still 'had' Hansen in your back pocket because you'd _double-programmed_ him, through that machine and through the code word you fed him at those meetings. Maybe he didn't know he'd ever even met you, just like he didn't know he was feeding you information over the phone -''

''He didn't,'' Anna said flatly...and then she grinned.

''Excuse me? He didn't...what?'' Steve questioned.

''Nice bluff; I never met Jack face to face. You know what though? You worked so hard piecing the rest of it together that I'm gonna throw you a bone. Jack has had _plenty_ of face-to-face meetings with _others_, if you get my meaning. And not all of them might care whether your wife lives or dies. I know I certainly don't.''

Steve's right fist came down hard on the center of the table, shattering the wood. He picked up one of the longer, dagger-like pieces and pressed the jagged tip against her throat. The door burst open immediately.

''You're done, Pal,'' Oscar told him. They had an indirect confession to the existence of more who'd been 'programmed' with code words; for now, that would have to be enough. He wasn't sure if Steve would actually use the piece of wood (or if maybe, as Michael had suggested, Oscar really should've consulted with Mark before sending Steve back in), but he'd let Anna get to him...again. The session was over.

Except Steve didn't see it that way. He pressed the wood harder into her neck, drawing blood, and shook Oscar off when he gently tried to pull him away. Then he leaned in close and whispered directly in his quarry's ear (too softly for Oscar to hear). ''You'll tell me - _**right now**_ - how many people are in your little 'robot army' and how many of those are trying to kill my wife or you won't have to worry about the death penalty because I will kill you right here. Right now. When it comes to Jaime's safety, you know I'll do it!''


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The splintered wood digging into her throat was _not_ a deterrent to her brand of evil because Anna laughed, even when Steve drew blood. ''Do you _really_ think I'm afraid to die?'' she scoffed. ''As you said, I'm already facing the death penalty. You'd be doing me a favor, in getting it over with more quickly.''

''Who said anything about 'quickly'?'' Steve snarled. ''The death penalty is quick. Merciful, even. What I have in mind for you involves a whole lot more suffering. Last chance before this starts getting ugly - and _painful_. How many people has Hansen sent after Jaime -''

''How the hell would I know?''

''Who are they?'' Steve continued. ''And is _Michael Marchetti_ one of them?''

* * *

''Wonderful!'' Michael exulted, beaming at Jaime. She had successfully completed her task with all three bionic limbs, after her first triumph. He added another small weight to the bar. ''Now I want you to start again with your left arm and work your way through again.''

''Oh c'mon,'' Jaime grumbled. ''Didn't even get a break that time. Are you trying to kill me or what?''

Rudy stepped up to the weight bench and took Jaime's left wrist in his hand, counting off her pulse in his head as he talked to her. ''We're trying to _help_ you, Honey,'' he explained (again). ''Even if you do eventually need more surgery, getting stronger as a result of these sessions increases the odds that everything will go smoothly. Your pulse is fine. Your breathing is still normal. You have at least one more round in you.''

''I'm _tired_.''

* * *

Anna looked over Steve's shoulder where Oscar had been standing mute since his attempt to end the session had failed. ''Goldman, _I'm tired_ of playing in the sandbox with your little errand boy here. Why don't you and I -''

''Because you're talking to me now,'' Steve growled. ''Or choosing _not_ to talk to me...but either way, we're not finished!'' He pressed his makeshift 'dagger' just a little bit harder into the base of her throat.

Anna kept talking to Oscar as though there wasn't a potentially lethal stake of wood about to be driven into her neck. ''You might tell Wonder Boy here that it's impossible to get _any_ information about that plane crash - or anything else - if he 'puts me out of my misery'.''

Her pointed refusal to even acknowledge him only enraged Steve further. He wielded the weapon with just enough force to finally produce a visible flinch from his quarry. ''I'm not kind enough to 'put you out of your misery' yet,'' he told her. ''You haven't suffered nearly enough...''

* * *

''Haven't I suffered enough?'' Jaime pleaded. She looked from one doctor to the other but both stood in silence, unwilling to get into a back-and-forth battle of wills with their extremely stubborn patient. Then she happened to glance over Rudy and Michael's shoulders...and spotted Mark standing quietly in the far corner. (It seemed to be his position of choice no matter where he turned up to observe his patients.) Jaime wondered how long he'd been standing there - and she realized she now had two choices. She could either cooperate with her physical therapy...or she would find herself trying to justify her actions the next morning over coffee and donuts.

''Alright; let's do this,'' she told Rudy and Michael. ''But shouldn't you be taking weight _off_...not putting more on?'' Jaime obligingly worked her way through all four limbs again then smiled almost sweetly. ''Load me up some more and let's go another round; I can take it!''

* * *

Anna looked directly into Steve's eyes and flashed an evil grin. ''That the best you can do?'' she mocked. ''Try harder. _I can take it_'' She gasped almost involuntarily as Steve leaned into her by bracing most of his weight against her midsection with his left arm while he kept subtly increasing the pressure of the jagged tip that was cutting into her neck.

It was beginning to get _dangerous_. ''Steve, that's enough,'' Oscar told him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder to try and get his attention.

''Enough?'' Steve shook his head. ''For everything Jaime has suffered, this isn't nearly 'enough'! Anna...Anja...or whatever you're choosing to call yourself today...you crossed a new line...a new low, even for you! Tell me how to recall your little robot-army NOW, before any more harm comes to my wife. One way or the other, this ends for you tonight. And Oscar, you need to step back. Please don't make me force you...''


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Oscar _should_ have consulted with Mark Conrad to make sure Steve was emotionally fit to return to work - especially before sending him in for another round with Anna - but he hadn't. Would he be forced to watch his best operative, one of the OSI's top interrogators (who also happened to be one of his closest friends) commit murder now, as the price for his own failure? There seemed to be no way to stop him and if Oscar left the room to summon help, it could be all over before he'd have a chance to return with the squadron of guards it would take to stop one enraged bionic man. He took his hand off of Steve's shoulder and stepped back, searching his decades of experience for something - anything! - that might help him diffuse the situation before it was too late.

''I'm out of patience,'' Steve growled at Anna. He wriggled the splintered piece of wood where it was already cutting into her neck, to make her feel it even more and to make sure she was aware of its imminent threat.

Anna shrugged with unbelievable coolness considering her predicament. ''Kill me then,'' she gasped. ''That will leave you not only out of patience but out of luck. Out of chances to do _properly_ the job you were brought here to do...out of answers to the questions your scientists salivate over...and most importantly, out of any hope of saving your beloved Vanilla. Kill me and her death is assured...because I'm the _only_ one who knows how to stop it. But then again...you don't have it in you to actually _kill_ me - the best you ever had! Vanilla could never -''

Steve leaned more of his weight onto his left arm (still directly across Anna's midsection), cutting off her air so she could no longer speak. ''The 'best I ever had'?'' he laughed bitterly. ''You were the worst mistake I ever made!''

''Don't make an even bigger one now, Pal,'' Oscar told him quietly.

''I don't intend to,'' Steve snapped. He lifted the now-bloody stake until it was directly in front of Anna's face, forcing her to look at it. ''Still think I don't have it in me? This should tell you differently.'' He let up the pressure on her middle just long enough to allow her one gulp of air before leaning in even harder. ''How does it feel to look death in the face?'' Steve asked her. ''To know it could be just seconds away? Because that's exactly what you made Jaime feel - more than once!'' He stared her down so intently that he didn't see Oscar slip silently out of the room.

With her back against the wall (both literally and figuratively), Anna began to squirm. Death truly didn't frighten her...but _pain_ was becoming a serious issue! Her eyes widened slightly as she nodded; she had something to say. Steve stepped back just enough to allow her to breathe again. She gasped for air greedily...and then she _smiled_. ''Yes, there will be more attempts on your beloved Vanilla's life,'' she chuckled. ''But you have guessed wrong. There is no 'robot army' of potential assassins. There may be dozens still under command - or there may be only a few - but there is only one with orders to kill your wife.''

''_Tell me_!'' Steve demanded, raising his makeshift weapon again to where it was at the ready.

''I'll let you puzzle it out,'' Anna laughed. ''It's more fun that way. Well...fun for me, anyhow. But I _will_ tell you this: start by looking at the ones you trust the most. You'll discover her killer there...if you find him in time...''

When Oscar returned just minutes later with half a dozen guards (and one very powerful tranquilizer gun), he found Anna lying unconscious on the floor, the 'dagger' embedded in her shoulder. _Steve was __**gone**_.

* * *

''I'll admit it,'' Jaime said happily, ''today felt _good_.'' She'd pushed past feeling tired, achy and cross - and had gone a full three rounds with the weights, using each of her limbs in turn, enjoying the sense of accomplishment instead of acting put-upon and tortured by her doctors' requests.

Mark smiled back at her as he pulled his car into the Austins' driveway. He'd offered to drive Jaime home so Rudy and Michael could go straight to Michael's office and chart the day's progress - and so he could spend a little time reinforcing his patient's newly rediscovered attitude of cooperation. ''You have every reason to feel proud of yourself,'' he told her. ''Steve'll be proud of you too.''

* * *

Steve sat by the lake behind the burned ruins of National Medical, throwing stones into the water as he tried to come to terms with what he had done - and what in the world he was supposed to do now. Oscar probably had the entire West Coast Intelligence community, the State Police and the LAPD out looking for him by now! For one brief, ugly (and very out of character) moment, he'd wanted nothing more than to _kill_ the woman who had caused Jaime so much pain and wreaked havoc into so many innocent lives. At the last second, he'd managed to divert his own hand's aim from Anna's chest to her shoulder but he'd still gone way too far - and he knew it. Everything he'd kept bottled up inside, all of the anger, frustration and pain, had boiled over in the worst way possible when the she-devil had the nerve to threaten Jaime's life yet again. He had completely lost control and achieved...exactly _nothing_. He'd extracted no answers about the plane crash or how many people Hansen might have 'programmed' under Anna's command - and worst of all, he was no closer to his ultimate goal of making sure his family was safe.

_Start by looking at the ones you trust the most_...what the hell was he supposed to think about that? Was Anna merely playing with his mind (again)...or could one of the people in the tight inner circle of those who purported to be helping them really be their worst nightmare (possibly without even being aware of it themselves)? What if she'd been telling the truth when she'd said he was her very first experiment? Steve wondered if it was possible that he was the one somehow programmed to do Jaime harm. He'd certainly just proven that he had more violence within himself than anyone would have believed him to be capable of! Were _any_ of the vile claims Anna had just made really true?

_**Start by looking at the ones you trust the most**_...


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Mark's intention had been to drive Jaime home from Clayton Memorial, giving her plenty of positive reinforcement on the way there, then after making sure she'd gotten safely into the house, he'd meant to take his leave for the night. He'd be seeing her in the morning for coffee and donuts (whether or not Steve had returned from his work with Oscar by then) and she deserved to spend some quality time with Becca after all the effort she'd put forth that day. When he opened the front door for her, though, plans suddenly changed.

The nurse greeted them in the hallway with her face looking pale and drawn tight with tension. ''Doctor Conrad? Urgent phone call for you.'' Jess handed him a slip of paper, being careful to keep it out of Jaime's line of vision. He recognized the number immediately as Oscar's car phone and below it Jess had written _Call from the house, if possible. URGENT!_

''Jaime,'' he instructed in a calm, steady voice, ''I need you to take Becca into the nursery please, while I make a phone call.'' At the questioning rising of her eyebrows, he went on. ''It's about a patient. I can't breech confidentiality; you know that.''

''Is it..._Steve_?'' she asked in a quivering voice. ''Did something...happen?''

''I'm not certain who - or what - it's about, but if this is something that concerns you in any way, you know I'll be the first one to tell you.''

Jaime nodded, her smile of only minutes before replaced by sad, frightened eyes and a trembling chin, then she took Becca by the hand and headed into the nursery. Mark waited until she'd shut the door before going into the kitchen to return the call. He listened with growing horror as Oscar detailed what had just happened. ''My first instinct was to call the State Police,'' Oscar admitted.

''Personal opinion? I wouldn't do that,'' Mark told him. ''At least, not yet. Two things could happen. Steve could become even angrier and lash out - or it could drive him into hiding so far that we may never find him. Does he have his datacom with him?''

''He did when he left here. Whether it's on - or whether he may have left it somewhere along the way - I just don't know. I've been trying to contact him but so far there's been no answer. I think I may know where he's gone. I'm headed in that direction now...but if he isn't there...''

''If he isn't there,'' Mark concluded, ''then it may be time to think about a wider search. For now, I'll stay here in case he decides to come home - and I'll get my datacom from the car and try to make contact. He may also try to call Jaime, but I don't think it's a good idea for her to know about this just yet.''

''I agree. If my idea doesn't pan out we may need her input to find Steve but for now -''

''She just can't handle it,'' Mark finished for him. ''Oscar, what are you planning to do when you find him?''

''I'll have to play it by ear.''

''I'd advise you to take a tranquilizer gun. Just in case.''

* * *

Rudy, Michael, Oscar, Mark, _himself_...Steve's mind cycled through everyone close to them who had also had contact with Jack Hansen. He turned from the smaller stones he'd been tossing into the lake and started choosing larger rocks closer to the shoreline instead. Even these did nothing to curb his frustration and _anger_. If Anna had been trying to play with his mind, she'd succeeded; the more he thought about it, the more confused it all made him. Steve heard his datacom crackle to life again but this time instead of Oscar's voice, Mark was talking to him and asking him to come home or at least allow himself to be found. Steve laughed bitterly to himself; if the _shrink_ really thought he'd allow himself to be sent back to The Hole (or worse) over what he'd just done...well, then he was crazier than his patients!

He kicked the mud that surrounded a larger boulder, sending it rolling into the water and exposing the soft ground underneath. Something caught Steve's eye, glinting there in the muck - the gleam of metal shining up at him, reflecting the last of the sunlight that bounced off the surface of the water. There was a small steel box, about the size of the component Steve had laid on the table when he'd been interrogating Anna. He tore a strip from his shirt sleeve to pick it up and placed the little box in his pocket. His fingers brushed against something larger that had been buried just beneath and Steve kicked at the ground with the toe of his boot, unearthing _**a gun**_. He tore off another piece of his shirt to pick it up - and his attention was diverted by the sound of a car pulling into National's rear parking lot.

''Steve...?'' Oscar called cautiously to him, stepping (alone) from the vehicle.

''Go away, Oscar!'' Steve demanded as his boss (and friend) began heading toward the lake - and toward _him_.

''I'm by myself. I just want to talk to you, Pal,'' Oscar told him.

Steve's hand wrapped around the gun and his finger sought the trigger...


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

It wasn't until Steve pivoted around to fully face him that Oscar saw the gun in his hand. Oscar pressed the Transmit button on his datacom (so Mark would know what was happening) before speaking in a calm, steady voice. ''You don't need a gun,'' he told Steve. ''Why don't you -''

''I don't _want_ to need it,'' Steve explained. ''Please don't come any closer...keep your hands away from your belt...and it stays pointed at the ground.'' He began backing away from Oscar and toward the ruined hospital while his eyes scanned the tree lines. ''Where are the penguins, Oscar?'' he demanded. ''Front parking lot? The other side of the lake? Tell me which way is 'out' and we won't have any problems!''

''I'm the only one here, Pal. I drove myself so there isn't even anyone in the car.''

''Oh, come on!'' Steve snapped, moving a little faster toward the burned-out facility. ''You've already thrown me in The Hole _and_ had me arrested; tell me why I should believe you now!''

''Because I'm not here as head of the OSI, your boss or even a government representative,'' Oscar said quietly. ''I'm here as your _friend_. Trust me...and let me help you.''

''Trust you? _Trust_ you? That would be funny if it wasn't so damned sad! Turn around, Oscar. I said _turn around_! I'm not gonna shoot you; I just don't want you to see which direction I leave in. If we're _really_ alone, that should be the end of it. Just let me leave -''

''And go where?'' Oscar asked.

''Does it matter?'' Steve asked bitterly.

''Of course it matters! It matters to me - and it especially matters to Jaime and Becca.''

* * *

Even with as much trouble as her bionic ear had caused her, Jaime cursed not having it to use right now. _Something __**bad**_ was happening and whether it had to do with Steve or not, it was something she knew she'd probably have been asked to assist with...if she wasn't _like this_. Maybe that wretched Anna had somehow gotten her hands on a weapon and had Steve and Oscar at gunpoint! She could be of absolutely no help in a situation like that, with a brain that still went fuzzy on her without warning and a body that sometimes couldn't even stay upright...

Out in the kitchen, Mark was careful to keep his own voice on the datacom soft and reassuring. He didn't use Steve's name, in case Jaime happened to poke her head out of the nursery at the wrong moment. He listened via an attached earpiece to what was being transmitted, with one hand on the telephone and ready to send in the cavalry if things suddenly went bad. Mark wasn't concerned about Steve trying to harm Oscar as much as he was worried that Steve might feel just overwhelmed enough to try and hurt _himself_. He wondered if he'd pegged it all wrong - and if Oscar had made the biggest mistake of his life in going alone - when he heard Steve tell Oscar to turn around. Mark pulled out the earpiece, turned the volume on the datacom low enough to not be overheard in the nursery, took the phone from its cradle and began to dial (just in case). He listened quietly for a few more moments, then...

''I won't turn my back on you, Pal,'' Mark heard Oscar saying. ''I care about you too much to do that.'' Oscar's words were followed immediately by a single muffled gunshot...and then nothing. Had it been the weapon Steve was carrying...Oscar's tranquilizer gun...or maybe a government sniper hidden in the trees?

''Oscar? Steve? What's happening down there?'' Mark transmitted - just as Jaime poked her head into the kitchen to fetch a bottle for Becca. He had to hang up the phone without making his call when his patient collapsed on the kitchen floor, out cold.

* * *

Michael and Rudy had finished charting Jaime's progress for the day and moved on to planning her next day's activities and therapies over a couple of steaming mugs of coffee. ''So when the tables turned,'' Michael summarized, ''and Jaime decided - for whatever reason - to cooperate with her own therapy, she was able to do three times as much with almost zero effect on her vital signs.''

''Her pulse was as normal when she'd finished as when we brought her into the weight room,'' Rudy concurred.

''We can't fault her for behavior that's directly caused by her head injury, but it's in Jaime's best interests - and thus, in _everyone's_ best interests - that she remain as calm as possible...''


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

''_Jess_!'' Mark yelled angrily as he knelt down to try and rouse Jaime from her faint. Instead, Nancy (the night nurse) came rushing into the kitchen. Mark hadn't realized it was past the time of their regular shift change, but that explained why Jaime had been allowed to leave the nursery without her nurse at least calling out a warning. ''Get her vitals and then call Michael Marchetti - he should probably still be up at Clayton - and tell him we need him here,'' Mark instructed. He reached for the datacom while Nancy tended to their fallen patient. He keyed up the datacom, not taking any crucial time to leave the room now that Jaime had already overheard him. ''Steve, it's Mark'' he transmitted as calmly as possible. ''Can you tell me what just happened?'' When there was no immediate answer, he tried again.

''Oscar, do you need assistance? Back-up? An ambulance?''

''I should've known I couldn't trust you, Oscar!'' Steve's voice said over the device. ''Yeah, maybe you did come alone, but you've got the _shrink_ ready to call in help - which means you told him where we are. I can't trust either one of you anymore!''

''Steve, the building isn't safe,'' Oscar transmitted (letting Mark know where they were headed). ''Let's go back to the house, sit down with Mark and work this all out.''

''Oscar, I'm warning you; don't come any closer! And _Doctor Conrad_,'' Steve said bitterly, ''if you call in the cavalry, the next shot won't be at the ground.''

From the floor, Jaime began to stir restlessly. ''Steve...Oscar...I...I heard..._a gun_...'' Her eyes snapped open and she tried to sit up, her head still obviously swimming.

''Everything's okay,'' Mark soothed. ''Don't try and get up until the room stops spinning. You may have hit your head when you fell.''

''Was somebody..._shot_?'' Jaime asked weakly. ''I heard a shot. Where...where's Steve? Need to talk to him...''

* * *

Steve was blinded by anger and confusion and no longer thinking clearly but _something_ drove him into the burned-out remains of what used to be a bustling, state-of-the-art research hospital. The third floor (and up) on the side that had once housed the Bionic Wing was completely gone. The fire had clearly burned hottest and fastest there. The other side still held the skeleton of its upper floors and the lower floors on that side (including both the huge glass doors in the front and the rear exit near Rudy's office and the cafeteria) were still intact. Moving solely on instinct, driven by both a need to get away from Oscar and to find something he didn't even realize he was looking for, Steve headed up to what used to be the locked, secure ward on the second floor.

While the entire building was (of course) deserted now, the ward that had most recently housed the worst-afflicted of Anna Kingsley's victims seemed especially eerie. Every door that had once been locked was now wide open - and not sure himself if he was searching or simply wandering (and hiding), Steve moved from room to room. He sat down for a minute to think in the padded cell where Russ had spent more time than _anyone_ should be forced to. Where would he go from here? A part of him wanted to find Oscar and ask for help...but what if Oscar was 'the person he trusted the most'? He longed to return to the warmth and comfort of his own home and family...but what if _**he**_, himself, was the person 'programmed' to hurt Jaime (or, more accurately, to kill her)?

What if Anna had been lying (again) and the anguish he was feeling now had no basis in reality? Every possibility was worse than the last.

* * *

''Where's Steve?'' Jaime persisted as she was being helped through the house and into bed. ''I wanna talk to him. If he's...in trouble...wanna help!''

''That's not a good idea right now,'' Mark tried to explain. ''Steve needs to help _himself_ before anyone else - including you - can help him. I'm sorry.'' He pulled down the bed covers and motioned for Jaime to lie down. ''In the meantime, you should get some rest. You've had a long day.'' (If her husband didn't make the right choices in the next few minutes, it was going to be an even longer night.)

''Not tired,'' Jaime told him. ''And I _don't_ want...a needle.'' She sensed (correctly) that the therapist was about to sedate her.

Jaime's speech was breaking up and she had already fainted (although she'd revived quickly). In his opinion, this was more than she could handle - so Mark gave her the shot anyway. ''You need to rest,'' he told her more firmly, easing her down onto the pillow and pulling the covers up. ''And you _don't_ need all of the added worry and stress; not right now.''

* * *

Steve got up from the floor no closer to a solution than when he'd sat down. He could hear Oscar's footsteps coming down the empty hallway and he panicked, keying up the datacom. ''Stop where you are and turn around, Oscar,'' he demanded. ''There's at least one more bullet in this gun - and I'm _not_ going back to The Hole or to jail.''

''Nobody wants to send you to jail,'' came the answer...but the footsteps stopped.

Steve crossed the hall into the private room where Jack Hansen had been held. He stood at the window, where he could see the back parking lot. ''You need to get in your car and go,'' he told his boss. ''_Now_. Maybe I'll call you in an hour or so but that's going to be my decision to make. I'm watching your car now and you have five minutes to pull it out of here before I use this gun...for real. I am _not_ kidding. _Go. __**Now**_.''

Oscar turned and headed back down the stairs, out the door and into his car. His new plan was to drive around to the front of the building, park out of view of the window and then call Mark to come down and assist their troubled friend. As Steve stood at the window watching him go, he leaned against the heat register in sheer exhaustion. The control panel on the top slid open...and his hand came to rest on yet another unexpected little metal box. He knew the little boxes were probably a vital clue and maybe this could all end if he placed them into the right hands. Quite possibly, they contained more components like the one that had brought down the airplane, but at the very least Steve knew their exteriors could be dusted for fingerprints. There was only one person he was positive he could trust. Slowly, he keyed up the datacom once more.

''Mark, you still there?'' he asked.

On the other end, Mark quickly picked up his own datacom. ''I'm here, Steve.''

''I want you to bring Jaime down to National Medical and send her up to the second floor security wing...alone.''


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

''I don't think that's a good idea,'' Mark transmitted. ''Jaime's sleeping...and you don't _really_ want her dragged into a situation with a gun involved, do you?''

''_I need to see my wife_!'' Steve insisted. ''If you can't make that happen, then -''

''Tell you what, Pal,'' Oscar suggested, ''you bring the gun out the front entrance and leave it on the sidewalk - and _then_ Mark will bring Jaime to you. The three of you can sit and talk for as long as you need -''

''I _knew_ you didn't leave!'' Steve growled. ''I knew I couldn't trust you!''

''Steve, I'm not about to leave you alone to try and deal with this,'' Oscar told him. ''You should know me better than that.''

''_Get Jaime down here now_!'' Steve said urgently. ''No deals, no discussions, no arguments. And no - the _'three'_ of us aren't going to sit down and talk. I need to see my wife _alone_.''

''How do we know you won't take her as a hostage, since you won't give up the gun?'' Mark queried.

''That's ludicrous!'' Steve snarled. ''The _only_ thing this is all about is making sure that Jaime is safe! And the gun stays in my pocket - she'll never have to see it - unless you force my hand. Even then, she'll be safe. If I need to take any further action, I'll send her out of the building first.''

''Steve,'' Mark said carefully, ''what do you mean by 'further action'?'' (Was he planning to harm himself?)

''Just get Jaime down here. Now.''

''Steve, listen -''

''_**Now**_.''

Mark moved into the kitchen and called Oscar's car phone for a hurried conference. ''Jaime's been sedated,'' he explained. ''If I bring her to Steve, in the mindset he's gotten himself into, he's liable to think we've harmed her in some way.''

''I think you need to wake her up.''

''If she reacted this strongly to the little bit she overheard, I'm worried about her health if we throw her right into the middle of it all.''

''Whatever he wants, Jaime's still our best chance at a good ending to the situation,'' Oscar insisted.

Mark grimaced. He knew Oscar was right but he truly feared for the safety of one of his patients...and the sanity of the other.

* * *

Mark didn't feel right about sending Jaime (who was still heavily sedated) up the stairs to the second floor alone so he walked with her as far as the landing before taking his leave and joining Oscar in the parking lot. The two men scarcely dared to breathe while they waited for Jaime to emerge (preferably _with Steve_) or at least for word or some sort of sign of what was going on inside. Mark called Clayton Memorial and arranged for a medevac to be dispatched, to land about 5 miles away and wait for further instructions before moving in. Just then, Michael's car pulled in next to Oscar's and he and Rudy (alerted by the nurse and directed there by a quick note Mark had jotted down for them) joined Oscar and Mark in staring up at the second floor window, silently awaiting word from their patients...and friends.

Jaime had never been on the secure wing before and walking past the first of the (open) padded cells gave her goosebumps and made her shiver with the memory of having been locked in a similar cell when Lisa Galloway had tried to take her place...and her life. ''Steve...?'' she called tentatively. Mark had only given her the briefest, most glossed-over version of events he felt he could get away with, since her drugged mind probably wouldn't absorb the intricacies anyway and he'd tried to frighten her as little as possible. The result, though, was that she was even more frightened than if he'd told her all of it. (What was he keeping from her, she wondered...and why?) She knew the interrogation had gone bad and that Steve was somewhere on this floor, asking to see her. She didn't know that he'd sent Anna to the hospital or that he was holed up with _a gun_.

''Steve?'' she called again. There was no answer and even the echo of her own footsteps was terrifying as she made her way through the ward that had borne witness to so many terrors and screams-in-the-night. Jaime leaned heavily against the wall from the drug that was still coursing through her system and from sheer exhaustion. In her present condition, she'd already walked much further than she was used to - and there was no sign of Steve. She carried a datacom of her own but she wasn't ready to call for help yet. She just needed a minute to rest and then she could keep going. (Why wasn't Steve answering her? Where was he?) She was suddenly SO dizzy...

Steve _did_ hear his wife coming down the hall - and of course he heard her calling out to him - but he needed to make sure she'd truly come alone before he revealed himself. He waited silently in the open closet in Jack Hansen's former room...until he heard the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the floor. Cautiously, he poked his head into the hallway and saw Jaime on the floor, slumped against the wall. Steve rushed to her side. ''What did _you people_ do to her now?'' he demanded over the datacom.

Steve pulled out the gun, prepared to do battle with whoever had hurt his wife.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

''I _**said**__ who did this to my wife_?'' Steve demanded over the datacom. ''It's pretty hard for me to talk to her when she's _unconscious_!''

The two medical doctors looked accusingly at Mark. ''I thought it was best,'' Mark told them (while Oscar tried to calm Steve down). ''At that moment, we'd just heard a gunshot. Jaime knew Steve was in the middle of it all and we didn't know who - if anyone - might've been shot. She was already under too much stress; she _fainted_, for God's sake! I had Steve on the other end of the radio, one hand on the phone to call an ambulance...or back-up for Oscar...and a patient out cold on the kitchen floor who could still throw a clot under the wrong circumstances! Tell me you wouldn't have done exactly the same thing!''

* * *

Up on the second floor, once he was sure no one was coming up the stairs, Steve put the gun away, scooped Jaime up with his right arm and carried her into one of the patient rooms. He propped some pillows against the head of the bed and cradled her there in a seated position, talking softly to her, trying to rouse her. Finally, Jaime opened her eyes and looked around fearfully as she struggled to focus.

''Sweetheart, do you know where we are?'' Steve probed gently.

''Y-yes...but I don't...I...don't know what's happening...''

''It's probably better if you _don't_ know - at least for now. I _do_ need you awake though,'' Steve told her, ''because I need your help.'' He waited a few more minutes, making small talk (asking about her day and about Becca) until Jaime was slightly more coherent and able to steadily meet his gaze. Then he dove in. ''Did Oscar and Mark call in the penguins - or the police - yet?''

''The _police_? No. Steve...please..._what's going on_?''

''Just listen. Please? Here's what I need you to do...''

* * *

Four pairs of eyes were still trained on the National's entrance when Jaime rounded the side of the building (coming from the rear exit), leaning on the outer wall for support but walking on her own - and by herself. She had something in her hands. Michael was the first to reach her.

''Easy,'' he said softly, supporting her with an arm around her waist before she keeled over again. ''Stop and rest for a few minutes if you need to - or I can pull a car over onto the grass and pick you up right here.''

''No. Have to...give this...to Oscar.''

Michael saw that what she carried was a clear plastic emesis bag (that Steve had probably found at the nurses' station). Inside were what looked like two tiny metal boxes, one slightly larger than the other. ''Do you want me to take it to him?'' Michael offered.

Jaime shook her head. ''S'posed to...give it...to Oscar.'' She could barely stand up. She'd already had two workout sessions and done an extraordinary amount of walking (for her condition)...but she doggedly kept going, heading slowly and painstakingly toward the front parking lot.

''Oscar!'' Michael called over his shoulder as the other three men rounded the side of the building.

When Jaime saw them, she stopped and extended the bag to her former boss. ''Here. Steve said...it's from...'' (Her speech was fading in and out and fragmenting badly - but she was determined to finish. She _had_ to help Steve!) ''It's from...Jack's room. The other...was by the lake. He said...fingerprints.''

''Thank you, Babe,'' Oscar told her, clasping her hand warmly for a moment before taking the bag. He knew he should probably turn the bag (unopened, as-is) over to a team from either his own agency or the NSB...but if what was in this bag had anything to do with what was troubling his friend so deeply, he wanted the answer NOW. ''Michael, Rudy,'' he queried, ''do you have gloves in your medical bag? I need to open these boxes.''

''I'll get them,'' Michael told him, taking off at a fast jog toward his car. Oscar followed, getting into his own car and setting the bag on the passenger seat. Michael handed him a pair of gloves and a small tweezers.

Oscar donned the gloves and removed the muddy box first. It barely pried open with the tweezers due to rust and water damage...and it was empty. He replaced it in the bag and took out the clean, undamaged (and slightly larger) box. Mark and Rudy were just helping Jaime into the back of Michael's car when Oscar popped the lid from the second box...and it _exploded_.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

''Bring that medevac in!'' Mark radioed. He stayed with Jaime (in the back of Michael's car) while Rudy and Michael rushed to Oscar. The blast had not been huge, but the concussive force was enough to knock Oscar unconscious and Michael grabbed his medical bag to begin tending to burns on the boss's hands and right arm. It might've been time to call in the troops, to send the 'penguins' into the building...but on whose authority? Exactly who was in charge? Russ wasn't up to it by any means and while the reins might then have normally fallen into Steve's hands it now appeared he might be the quarry...or one of them. Jack Hansen was also out of commission and the lesser chiefs at the NSB were suspect now as well, since they'd all spent copious amounts of time with their boss as he 'recovered'. _Who could still be trusted_?

Upstairs on the second floor, Steve paced nervously, waiting for word that they'd found fingerprints, had at least one suspect in custody and it was finally _over_. It seemed to be taking forever. If the fingerprints had for some reason been delayed, at the very least he'd expected to hear something from Oscar, either a 'Thank you' for finding the evidence or..._something_. He moved to the other side of the hallway, to a window where he could see the front parking lot - just in time to see the medevac chopper landing. The cars were too close to the building; he couldn't see what was going on. Had something happened to Jaime? Why wasn't anyone contacting him? Finally, he couldn't wait any longer.

''I can see the chopper,'' he transmitted. ''What's happening down there? Oscar - is Jaime alright?''

''Jaime's fine, Steve,'' came the answer (from Mark). Steve thought he could hear his wife crying in the background. ''But Oscar isn't,'' Mark went on. ''And I think you know that. You need to come out of there now before things get any uglier.''

''What happened to Oscar?''

''Did you think about what might've happened if she fell, before you sent Jaime down here with a bomb?''

''With a _**what**_?!'' Steve was stunned. ''Let me talk to Jaime.''

''You need to come down here and we'll do our best to sort this out,'' Mark told him.

''Send Jaime back in. I need to see her...I need to talk to her.''

Mark was having _none_ of it. ''I can't do that. Come out of the building, lay the gun on the sidewalk...and then you can see your wife. Not before.'' Beside him, Jaime tried to take the datacom and when he refused to give it to her, she took out her own. Mark easily removed it from her hands.

''Please...'' Jaime sobbed. ''He...Steve...needs me!''

Mark shook his head. ''For all we know, he'll only take you hostage. I can't allow -''

''Steve wouldn't...he would never do that!'' Jaime cried.

While Steve continued to pace, Mark decided to try and see what Jaime might know. Earlier, Oscar had given him the green light to call for help if he felt it was needed, so he might - temporarily - have to be the one to make the decision. ''What did Steve tell you when he gave you that bag?'' he asked Jaime.

''Gotta...go up there!'' Jaime insisted. ''Steve asked for _me_!'' It was only the strong sedative still coursing through her system (and complete exhaustion) that kept Jaime from bolting out of the car and into the building.

''If you want to help Steve, you need to talk to me now,'' Mark told her. ''What did he say about that bag?''

Jaime thought hard. She was so frightened and confused! ''He said...don't give it to anyone but Oscar. He found one box...by the lake...and the other...um...the other was in Jack Hansen's room...hidden. He didn't...he would never...''

''What does he plan to do next?'' Mark queried.

''He...I...don't know. Please, I have to go up there!''

Michael appeared at the open car door. ''Oscar's awake,'' he announced. ''He's refusing transport so we're treating his burns and keeping an eye on him here. He said to tell you that we should send Jaime back in, if she's up to it. If she can't talk Steve out of there...he'll have to call the State Police.''

* * *

On Oscar's instruction, the chopper took off without him - but _with_ the remaining little box, to be taken to a lab and analyzed for fingerprints. It seemed that everyone else had been more shaken up by the bomb than he was; in truth, he'd simply had more practice in hiding his emotions. He'd refused even the mildest painkiller, preferring to tough it out while he tried to bring the situation with Steve (and Anna) to a quick and peaceful resolution.

Also on Oscar's instruction, Mark pushed Jaime into the burned-out facility in a wheelchair, then helped her up to the second floor landing. ''If he won't come out with you,'' Mark reminded her, ''try to at least get him to give you the gun.''

''I hate guns,'' Jaime said softly.

''Right now, we all do.'' He nodded toward her pocket. ''If all else fails, remember you need to hug him and put that needle in the back of his neck.'' It was an awful scenario to even contemplate - but what might happen if she failed (and teams were sent in to bring Steve out by force) could be far, _far_ worse.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Mark stood on the second floor landing for longer than he probably should have, before retreating back outside. He wondered if Jaime would be able to pull off what they'd just asked of her. Of course she could talk with Steve, reason with him and even yell at him, under normal circumstances...but this situation was about as far from normal as it could get. And if the 'right' thing to say (that would make Steve come out of the building peacefully with her) came to her mind, would she also be able to actually _say it_? So often, with her injury, Jaime had trouble - as she put it herself - 'getting the words from my brain to come outta my mouth'.

''What do you think?'' Oscar asked Mark when he returned. ''Can she do what we've asked of her?''

Mark shrugged. ''The 'pre-shooting' Jaime definitely could.''

''What about _this_ Jaime?'' Oscar probed.

''For Steve's sake...I hope so.''

Upstairs, Jaime made it only part of the way down the hall before having to stop. She fought mightily to stay on her feet, as she'd hit the floor enough for one day and detested having to be scooped up, hated the feeling of being helpless - because helpless, she was _not_! ''Well, I'm here!'' she called to Steve. ''You're gonna have to come to me though; this is as far as I go.'' She saw Steve's head poke fleetingly out of a room on the front side of the building. ''I'm by myself,'' she told him. ''Just can't...walk anymore.''

''What did they do to you this time?'' Steve demanded, coming toward her.

''_They_ didn't do anything, Steve. You..._you_ did this, making me...come all the way back up here. And...a _bomb_! Why would you send me outta here...with a bomb?''

''I didn't know what was in either of those boxes. I found them and wanted Oscar to send them for processing; I told you that, remember?''

''Yeah...I remember what you told me. I also...remember what you _didn't_ tell me! You...you didn't tell me you had _a gun_! **A gun**, Steve? Why would you have...a bomb and a gun? What's happened to you?''

Steve could see (and hear) that she had more information now than the first time she'd come up. ''What, exactly, did they tell you?'' he asked softly.

''Not enough. I...I don't know why...my _husband_ is holed up in a building that might..._collapse_ at any moment...with a GUN!''

''Sweetheart, this wasn't what was supposed to happen.'' Steve reached out and pulled her into his arms. She was in a perfect position to use the needle that Mark and Oscar had given her but she couldn't do it; not yet, anyway. As worried and frightened as she was, Jaime was even more _furious_ - and she intended to let Steve know it!

''So...how _did_ it happen?'' Jaime asked. Her tears were angry ones now. ''Why are you up here - _**with a gun**_ - and what are you going to do now?''

''Let's go sit down,'' Steve suggested, leading Jaime into one of the rooms and onto a bed where he sat down beside her. ''Sweetheart, the gun was unintentional. I came out here - out to the lake - to do some thinking. I found the gun when I was throwing rocks into the water...and everything sort of just snowballed from there.''

''Thinking...about what?''

''Well...ah...'' Steve hedged (unsure what they'd already told her). ''You know Oscar took me to see Anna, right?'' he began. Jaime nodded. ''They found the component that caused the plane crash and I was supposed to get her to tell me where it came from - who carried it or planted it onboard. I almost had her talking...but then things went bad...really, really bad.''

''Did she...escape?'' Jaime guessed.

''No. I...ah...'' There was no 'right' or easy way to put it. ''I almost slit her throat; I drew blood. And then...well...I stabbed her, Jaime.'' Steve concluded.

''Is she..._dead_?''

''No. Well, I'm not sure. I took off; I ran.''

Jaime sat silently, taking it all in - and then she frowned. ''Was Oscar...going to press charges...because you hurt her?''

''Probably not,'' Steve admitted. ''But I don't know.''

''You didn't even know...if you were in trouble...and you ran anyway? Why?''

''I needed to be by myself, to think. Anna said some pretty awful things and I needed time to wrap my head around it.''

Jaime still didn't understand. ''You could've stayed and talked to Oscar - or called Mark.''

''See, that's just it. Anna told me that the person who was out to hurt us - to hurt _you_ - was 'the one we trusted the most'. So there's somebody we have to look out for, most likely someone who was in contact with Hansen while he was locked up here. The way I figure, it could be Oscar, Mark, Rudy or Michael. It could even be...me. When I found those boxes, I thought they were about the right size to have held the component that brought down our plane. I thought Oscar's lab teams might be able to find out once and for all who else is under Hansen's control - and Anna's. The gun, it was an accident, but I used it to keep Oscar and the others away, because until I know who we can and cannot trust - until I know you're one hundred percent safe - they need to keep their distance. All of them.''

It almost sounded to Jaime like he was planning to keep her with him until he'd figured it all out. But Becca needed them - and there was one other possibility he didn't seem to be considering. ''Or maybe...'' Jaime theorized, ''...she was messing with your head, Steve! She might've been..._playing_ with you. Maybe she was...just having FUN...''


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

''She plays with minds...for the fun of it,'' Jaime told Steve. She leaned into his arms as they sat together on the bed and she wondered where, exactly, he was keeping the gun. Could she get it away from him? Should she try? Her hand brushed her own pocket, where the syringe Mark and Oscar had given her waited. _Please God...don't make me use this_, she prayed silently. She wondered to herself if she could actually do it. Would Steve ultimately see it as a way to get him _help_...or as a terrible _betrayal_ of his trust? ''What are you gonna do now?'' she asked quietly. ''Maybe we could just...go home...?''

''I'd love that,'' Steve said wistfully, ''but we can't. Or I can't, anyway. They probably have half the state's Law Enforcement and Intelligence people down there, waiting to arrest me by now.''

''No...no, they don't! And for what?''

''If not for what I did to Anna, there's still the little matter of a bomb in one of those boxes. Now they'll likely be after me for _attempted assassination_!''

''I don't think Oscar would do that,'' Jaime speculated. ''Especially since we didn't try to press charges when he took Becca. Steve, this...it's just gonna keep getting worse. Please...let's go down there...together...now.''

''I can't do that. And the more I think about it, you probably shouldn't either.''

''Steve...please...''

''How many were down there, when they sent you back up?'' Steve asked. ''Did that chopper drop off any penguins to help take me down?''

''Nobody wants...to 'take you down'!'' Jaime cried softly. ''They just...they wanna _help_ you. Please, Steve...let them...help you!''

''Just how many 'helpers' are down there right now?''

''Only Mark, Oscar, Rudy and Michael. Just...four. And they...they only wanna help you. Let's go down..._together_. Right now,'' Jaime pleaded.

''Perfect; they're all here.'' Steve keyed up his datacom. ''Is everyone still down there?'' he transmitted.

''We're here, Steve,'' Mark answered calmly.

''Good. I want all four of you to come up here, up to the second floor. We need to talk.'' Somehow, he would find out once and for all who was really on his side...and who was _not_.

''Yes; we'd like to talk to you - and to help you,'' Mark told him. ''Why don't you send Jaime back out? She doesn't need to be in the middle of it. She can rest in my car and -''

''No; Jaime stays with me for now,'' Steve insisted. ''It's time to sort out who the _real_ traitor is. Are you coming or not?'' Subconsciously, his free arm tightened just slightly around his wife's waist. He was careful not to squeeze too hard and mindful of his cast, trying his best not to jab her in the ribs with it. She was trembling...and he drew her closer for a tender, calming kiss. Jaime wrapped one arm around Steve while her other hand reached into her pocket and her fingers popped the cap from the syringe...

* * *

Outside, the four men debated what their next move should be. They could see Jaime and Steve in the second floor window...and there was no sign that either of them was getting ready to leave. ''Oscar, you're _hurt_,'' Michael said pointedly. ''You have a probable concussion not to mention those burns - and Rudy, you need to keep yourself calm...and _safe_. Mark and I can go up there and try to talk him out before anything worse happens.''

''He's got a point,'' Mark agreed. ''Rudy, stay and look after Oscar - and Oscar, this way you'll still be able to call in the troops if it comes down to that. I'll take the tranquilizer gun with me, if that's alright.'' He nodded to Michael and the two of them headed into the building.

They'd just disappeared through the front entrance when the datacom crackled to life. ''Which one of you geniuses turned my own wife against me?'' Steve demanded. ''Yeah - I found the needle you gave her. Now you have two choices. One - the four of you can get the hell up here NOW...or Two - go out and stand in the middle of the lot together where I can see you. And stay there. I'll leave - _with Jaime_ - and that's all I'm gonna say about that!''

''I know you don't want Jaime to get hurt, Pal,'' Oscar ventured (trying to buy Mark and Michael a little time to reach the Austins). ''She's very fragile right now and -''

''Don't you think I know that?'' Steve exploded. ''That's what this has all been about - making sure no one hurts her again! If you don't understand that, then maybe I'll have to use this needle to put her out so she doesn't have to witness what happens next!''

Before Rudy or Oscar could interject (and while Steve's finger was still on the Transmit button), the sound of a muffled shot echoed through the device...and then there was silence. With the electronic distortion, it was impossible to tell if the shot had come from Mark's tranquilizer gun...or a _real_ gun with a silencer equipped. Before anyone could say or do anything more, a low rumble started in the burned-out half of the building and grew into an ominous growl as the walls caved in upon each other. The entire facility flattened like a falling house of cards, from one side to the other until only a pile of concrete, metal, broken glass and ashen-colored rubble remained.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Even though the two men in the front parking lot were well-used to dealing with crises of all kinds, time stopped with a dreadful, deathly silence as they stared at the mountain of rubble. Finally, their 'autopilot' kicked in. Rudy began by radioing Clayton Memorial for the medevac to be resent - and for a second one to be dispatched with his Bionic Life Support Equipment on board. Oscar got on his car phone to begin rallying Search and Rescue. Then they heard the first voice from somewhere inside.

''I'm over here!'' Mark called. ''I'm not hurt but I can't get out!''

They found him underneath a small section of the concrete stairs that had somehow remained intact and shielded him from the rest of the falling debris and yet trapped him like a tiny stone cave without an exit. ''Search and Rescue is coming,'' Oscar told him. ''Where are the others - and what happened in there?''

''We'd just made it upstairs and Steve had Jaime in his arms,'' Mark said in a hurried, urgent voice. ''She'd either passed out...or he gave her that needle. She wasn't moving. He broke out a rear window when he saw us - like he was planning to jump and run with her - and I got off a shot right before..._this_ happened.''

''With the tranquilizer gun?'' Rudy asked. ''Did you hit him?''

''I think I might have - but he was already halfway out the window.''

''And this was before the collapse?'' Oscar queried.

''Before...or _during_. Everything happened so fast - but he broke the window to get away from us, not to escape the building coming down.''

''Then they probably didn't get very far,'' Rudy theorized. ''If the dart got him, Steve still would've had time to hit the ground on both feet and cover a little distance if he took off at a dead run...but not very much.''

Oscar nodded and began pointing some of the arriving search crews in the direction of the lake and the highway. An extraction team began moving away the concrete to free Mark while Oscar and Rudy continued probing him for any and all information he might offer.

''What about Michael?'' Rudy asked.

''He was a good ten yards back when I took the shot - but running to catch up. I haven't seen him since...'' Mark shook off the attention of the medics who were crowding around him, now that they had access. ''I'm alright,'' he insisted.

''Let them look at you anyway,'' Rudy told him gently, leaning in closer himself to get a better look. Mark had a goose egg already forming over one eye and his body was a mass of minor cuts and contusions but he was coherent and oriented to time and place, albeit appearing pale, shaky and weak. Rudy listened as the medic rattled off Mark's vital signs. ''Shocky,'' Rudy announced. ''Transport him to -''

''Steve and Jaime might need me...when you find them,'' Mark protested.

''_Transport_ to Clayton,'' Rudy said more firmly.

''Team Three - We found someone!'' another team radioed from the other side of the rubble pile. ''We need a gurney over here! Head trauma and injuries to the left arm and shoulder. Unconscious...but alive.''

''Team Three,'' Oscar transmitted, ''male or female?''

''Male. White lab coat, dark hair. Injuries consistent with a fall; he was clear of most of the debris. Get the damned gurney over here _now_! And some medics would be awfully helpful!''

Oscar and Rudy stood their ground, torn between trying to aid Michael or searching the horizons for any sign of Steve and Jaime. Oscar waved his bandaged arm in the air, directing more teams as they arrived and hoping beyond hope for a radio transmission from either of his missing friends...but there was nothing. ''If that dart _didn't_ hit him,'' Oscar realized aloud to Rudy, ''Steve could be long gone by now - and he's got Jaime with him.'' His eyes scanned the stretch of highway that ran along one side of the lake, toward Los Angeles in one direction and the middle of nowhere in the other.

''If he's running,'' Mark said (as he was loaded onto a gurney), ''maybe he put her down somewhere out in the open, so the searchers can find her. We can only hope...''

''Rudy, just how far _could_ he have gone,'' Oscar wondered, ''if Mark's dart hit him?''

''It was strong; should've dropped him pretty quickly. But he was in a _rage_, so with the amount of adrenaline that was probably in his system if he was running at full speed until he absolutely couldn't run anymore...he could've even rounded the building and headed out the front, right behind us, while we watched everything come down. He could be several _miles_ down the highway or - on the flipside - they could both be trapped somewhere in the debris. If that dart hit _Jaime_ by mistake, especially if Steve did use that needle on her, we need to find her fast and treat her for a probable overdose.'' There was one other (truly horrific) possibility. ''I just hope he wasn't running in the direction of the lake, with Jaime in his arms, if that dart took him down. If they both hit the water unconscious...''


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

It had gotten dark SO quickly! Almost as quickly as consciousness was gained, it faded away again and each new little burst of awareness only brought more darkness...and _**pain**_. Whether by accident or by purposeful design, they were well hidden and nearly impossible to see now that the last of the sunlight was gone. The searchers were _so_ nearby and calling out both verbally and over the datacoms - but answering took more energy than a heavily drugged body could manage and the datacom lay just out of reach...

* * *

It was amazing the things Anna could overhear when those around her believed she was beyond hearing them! It was a trick she'd first learned when growing up with Graham and Grant. She'd laid in her bed, 'sound asleep' and absorbed their every word as they fantasized about ways they might control the thoughts and actions of others. She was finding it especially useful again (all of these years later) while in her bed in the mini-hospital at the OSI's Secure Detention Facility. If they knew she was awake, they'd probably give her meds to knock her unconscious; she was less 'dangerous' to them that way. No, Anna preferred to lie perfectly still, willing the blood away from her face (trying to 'pale out' as much as possible) and not fighting the straps that bound her to the bed. Dreaming was SO much easier when she was awake...and infinitely more fun!

_Something_ was happening internally at the OSI - something BIG and _catastrophic_! The chatter in the hallway grew louder and more urgent and then the tone grew hushed. It did Anna's heart proud to sense that _she_ was at the center of the maelstrom. She had to struggle mightily to disallow a satisfied grin from spreading across her face (and giving her alertness away). Not many people in this world had the power to bring an entire Intelligence agency to its knees...

* * *

Jaime made it up onto her knees and fought through a suffocating fog of dizziness as her hands flailed across the ground, searching where she'd spotted the datacom just before the sun had gone down. It was SO dark now, darker still in the dense thicket of trees where they'd ended up. Steve still hadn't moved or made any sound, not even when she accidentally poked him in the ribs. What had happened and how had they gotten there...wherever 'there' was? Jaime scanned her spotty memory as her fingers blindly scanned the mud and moss that surrounded them.

The last thing she remembered, they were still back in the burned-out building. Steve was holding her and she'd been just about to do what Oscar and Mark had requested - plunge a needle into her own husband's neck so he could _finally_ be helped - when her hand, guided by a body that was beyond exhaustion, began to shake. Steve felt the tube of the syringe brush the back of his shoulder - and broke the embrace, grabbing Jaime's arm firmly.

''They got to you too...didn't they?'' he'd said sadly, before transmitting the accusation over the datacom. He was unable to wrest the syringe from her hand because his other hand was in a cast, but he seemed to know exactly what was happening, even before he forced her arm to first move away from his back and then between them, where he stared at it in angry disbelief. Their right arms were crossed between them in a brief struggle for control - and while Steve was careful not to _hurt_ her, he was obviously much stronger. ''Let it go, Sweetheart,'' he'd requested, very softly.

Once she'd decided to actually _do_ it and had summoned her courage, she wasn't giving up that easily. She locked her eyes to his, hoping to hold his attention with her gaze. ''This needs to end, Steve,'' she'd told him. As he'd tried to pull the syringe away from her, Jaime used the momentum of his own action to try and (gently) jab him in the stomach. Then, just as Steve finally got his fingers around the barrel, Jaime's left arm crossed the space between them. When he pulled the syringe out of her right hand, her left wrist was in the way...and she was accidentally jabbed.

Steve instantly let go of the needle in utter horror and it clattered to the floor. That small sound was the last thing Jaime remembered before coming to, in a thick grove of low trees that almost formed a cave above them. The ground sloped down low, exactly where they were both lying, and the intermittent flashes of light were just barely missing them. She'd been almost waking up in small spurts each time she heard them calling out for her (and for Steve) but at first she was too groggy to answer. She was still so weak...but she knew she had to get help. She couldn't see him anymore now that the last of the sunlight was gone, but there was something _wrong_ with Steve! Once she'd rested a bit, she fought off the fog in her brain long enough to try once more to reach for the datacom...

* * *

''_Find them_!'' Oscar barked at anyone who came near to where he and Rudy were seated to oversee the search. ''There are dozens of you and only two of them - just _look harder_!'' There were choppers in the air with giant searchlights to aid the rescue teams but it was beginning to appear that maybe the tranquilizer dart had missed its mark and Steve was still running...when suddenly the datacom crackled to life with a small, shaky voice on the other end.

''We...we're...here...'' Jaime transmitted.

Then there was nothing more.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

''We!'' Rudy exclaimed. ''She said _we're_ here!''

''Jaime!'' Oscar transmitted. ''Is Steve with you? Are you hurt?'' He was answered by radio silence. ''...Jaime?''

Rudy keyed up his own device. ''Honey, if you can hear us but aren't able to answer, I need you to listen to me. If you run your fingers along the side of the datacom, you should find a recessed button. We need you to press it; that's your Emergency Locator.''

Oscar shook his head. ''If she's on her own device, it hasn't been upgraded. She needs to find Steve's.'' Carefully, Rudy relayed the information...and they waited. There was no response. ''She could activate the siren on her own - but that pulls a lot of juice. If she isn't close by, she'll lose power before the searchers can get to her. Dammit!''

Rudy thought back to the last time they had tried to find Jaime using only a datacom. The rescue team had found the device (even though Jaime was long gone) by listening for the sound of his voice, transmitting to her. That would have to be the solution now, as well...and hearing his voice would hopefully help her regain (and hold) consciousness. ''Jaime, help us to help _you_. Do you know where you are?''

Finally, an answer. ''No...sleepy.''

''I need you to try and stay awake, Honey. Where's Steve? Can you hand him the radio?''

''He's...here.''

''Is he hurt?'' Rudy asked. (Just keep transmitting, keep talking so the teams have _something_ to go on!)

''Y-yes.''

Rudy's heart pounded a little harder and faster. He took a nitro tablet from his pocket and went on. ''I need you to put your hand on his chest and tell me if he's breathing.''

''Scared...''

Michael may have had far more experience in dealing with the after-effects of severe head injuries, and Mark might have been the more obvious choice to help Jaime deal with her emotions...but to Rudy, these were his 'kids' who were lost out there somewhere and his determination to help them never wavered. ''I know you're scared but you have more courage than you realize, just to have made it this far. You can do this.'' (_Please, Jaime_, he pleaded in his head as he waited, _find a little more of that courage because you __**have**__ to do this_!)

''I...can't.''

''You _can_ - and you _will_!'' Rudy insisted, taking a firm, fatherly tone. ''_Now put your hand on Steve's chest and tell me if he's breathing_!'' He held his own breath as he waited for an answer - and Oscar stopped 'directing traffic' to wait silently with him.

''Yes...but he won't...answer me.''

A collective sigh of relief went up between the men. At least he was still alive; there was _hope_. ''We're sending help as fast as we can, Honey,'' Rudy told her. ''Can you tell us anything about where you are? Do you see lights from the highway?''

''No. Dark.'' Jaime's words were fragmented and her voice was groggy and fading...but she was trying her best. ''Saw trees though...before...''

''That's very good,'' Rudy praised effusively. ''What else did you see?'' He looked to Oscar, trying to find out if the searchers were picking up the sounds of this conversation...if they were getting any closer. Oscar shook his head.

''Just...trees,'' Jaime told him. ''Every...where...''

Her voice had trailed to a whisper and Rudy could tell she was very close to drifting off again. ''Don't you fall asleep on me!'' he ordered, raising his voice to keep her attention.

''Rudy...?''

''Yes, Honey?''

''Is...is Becca...okay?''

It seemed an odd question on the surface, but Rudy understood. Jaime was confused and very frightened; she needed reassurance on every possible level. ''Becca's fine; she's home with the nurse,'' he reminded her. ''She's had her supper by now and is sound asleep with her teddy bear and her blanket. Now let's get her Mommy and Daddy home to her safely. Tell me more about what you were able to see, before the sun went down.''

''Was dark. Even before...it got dark...outside.'' She was struggling, but somehow managing to stay with him.

''Do you hear anything unusual? _Smell_ anything?''

''Moss. And...and _mud_.'' There was silence for a few long moments, then... ''Rudy...? I...I found Steve's...radio.''

The soft beep of a locator signal filled the air - and a cheer went up through the searching crowd. She'd done it! Jaime had remembered Rudy's instructions and mustered the strength to keep looking until she'd found the device. From there, it took only minutes.

''Team Six - we've got them!'' came the jubilant announcement.

''Team Nine - on scene! Team Two joining us - and we're bringing them out to the highway! No visible injuries! Send the medevac for transport.''


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

From her unique vantage point, Ann Sommers smiled and watched as her daughter and son-in-law were loaded onto the chopper. There would be no 'gateway' on this day; Jaime had made all the right choices. If she could have, she'd have given them some kind of warning about the one person who _truly_ intended to do them harm...but that was knowledge they'd have to gain for themselves.

* * *

It had been a quieter than normal night at Clayton Memorial until the arrival of the two choppers filled with VIPs in various states of injury brought tranquility to a screeching halt. The hallways of the ER filled with gurneys, medics, attending physicians - and the Secret Service, when word filtered through the Intel community that an attempt had possibly been made on the OSI Director's life. The penguins gradually filtered out once Oscar was treated, released and then sent them away himself. For now, he wanted no notice to be taken of the fact that his top operative had all but placed a bomb into his hands. After he'd had time to think about it, he'd realized that Steve had no way of knowing he'd choose to open the little box himself (instead of sending it off for immediate processing). Fingerprint tests on the second box would (he hoped) tell the more accurate story.

Even though it was late, Oscar commandeered a phone and started making calls. He ensured that Anna was still being restrained - and under heavy guard - then he phoned another wing in the same secure facility to be told there'd been no change in Jack Hansen's near-catatonic condition. It had so far been impossible to tell if he was remaining so silent to keep from incriminating himself or if he was truly as traumatized by what had happened as he appeared to be. Oscar also phoned the lab, reminding them for only the fifth or sixth time of the dire necessity for _fast_, accurate results in the tests on the remaining metal box. Finally, he sat back and allowed himself a short time to rest, before phoning the lab again to demand what might be taking them so long.

Mark was examined and - except for disinfection and bandaging of some minor wounds - was released without treatment. Of the entire group sent to Clayton from the grounds of their own destroyed facility, Mark was the luckiest. The building had quite literally fallen down all around him, leaving him in his tiny little concrete pocket, safe from harm until the rescuers could pull him out. As soon as he was able, he began tending to his patients. There wasn't much he could do for them until they were awake and aware but he made the rounds anyway, with his senses attuned for any sign of trouble.

Jaime was getting groggier instead of more alert - definitely _not_ a good sign. Mark detailed for the ER doctor exactly what he'd given her (and what had been in the needle he suspected Steve had stuck her with). Activated charcoal was administered as she faded completely from consciousness, with IV saline as a back-up measure and once he was satisfied that everything possible was being done for her, Mark moved on to Steve's cubicle.

Steve was still motionless and very, very pale. When the Rescue team found him, they'd removed the tranquilizer dart from his side, meaning he'd run over a mile (carrying Jaime) while the entirety of the dart's contents coursed through his system with savage effectiveness. His treatment was much the same as his wife's...but unlike Jaime, Steve had still not made a sound.

Rudy insisted on overseeing the initial exams and treatment for both of his 'kids' before finally settling into an exam bed himself so his cardiologist could begin an EKG and supplementary medications. He continued to grouse about being taken away from patients who clearly _needed_ him - even more so with Michael at least temporarily out of circulation - but he grudgingly accepted a light dose of sedation and finally closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Michael had regained consciousness briefly after reaching the ER but the attending physician had put him out until a full set of x-rays could be taken and viewed. ''My arm...'' he'd told the staff, ''...it can't be broken. Jaime may need more surgery!'' It wasn't simply an ego-driven exclamation; there truly was no one else who could do what he was capable of. He was still protesting as the medication took him under.

Mark sat for another hour with Steve, talking to him quietly and trying to urge him to wakefulness. He was gratified to see a bit of color finally return to Steve's face but there was still no sound or movement from his friend and patient. The ER doctor poked his head in to do a vitals check and turned to Mark. ''At least he's been stabilized now. I'll have a nurse sit with him because your other patient may be waking up soon; you may want to check on her. She's crying in her sleep...'' Mark nodded his thanks and rushed back to Jaime's bedside.

Large, silent tears streamed down Jaime's face. She and Steve had indeed escaped the building before its collapse and although the subsequent run with a dart in him had cost Steve dearly, he had succeeded in protecting Jaime from any further harm. Mark knew they would have to sit down together and work through what had happened in the minutes and seconds before the collapse but for the moment he'd be concentrating on simply getting her through the night.

Soon, her tears grew to a soft whimper and then (eyes still closed) she whispered something Mark had to lean in closer in order to hear.

''I'm...sorry...''

''You did nothing wrong,'' he told her quietly (even though it was unlikely that she could hear him just yet). ''Nothing to apologize for. If anything, it was all my fault...''

- - - - -


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Oscar had just stepped into Jaime's cubicle - had only been there a few seconds, in fact - but he'd managed to overhear what Mark had just told Jaime. ''_If anything, this was all my fault_.'' Perhaps Oscar should've asked the therapist himself for clarification then and there...or pulled him from the room into a (locked) office and demanded answers...but he didn't. Instead, Oscar slipped silently from the cubicle, headed down the hall and picked up the phone. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the phone table until he realized he'd (almost automatically) dialed Russ's office at OSI-Los Angeles. He needed the level of competence and discretion that only his (former) right-hand man could provide - and he needed it _now_. Without giving it a second thought, Oscar dialed another number.

''I have a project for you,'' he told the sleepy voice on the other end. ''It's a small one but it's _urgent_.''

''Go on,'' Russ urged, suddenly wide awake. He and his boss had yet to have their official meeting about when (and if) he'd be able (or willing) to return to work - and in what capacity - but if there was something that Oscar felt he could only turn to him for, then Russ was all ears.

''I need you to find out if Mark Conrad _ever_ visited the Soviet Union...''

* * *

Mark knew he'd been the one who'd chosen to sedate Jaime back at the house, in spite of her insistence that she didn't need or want another needle. He'd also been the one who'd sent her back into the remains of National with a sedative in her pocket and instructions on how to inject her husband _and_ he'd fired the tranquilizer gun that had caused Steve's current condition. He told himself that Steve's choice to flee had intensified the dart's effects - and it _had_. But what if that dart had hit Jaime instead? She quite possibly wouldn't have survived the triple dose of medication. Everyone else came to him for answers...but who would he turn to, when he had his own issues to work through?

''How's...Steve...?'' Jaime asked, opening her eyes to look directly at him.

* * *

It seemed that everywhere Oscar went, Mark had beaten him there and was sitting in a corner, quietly observing; it was almost a trademark. Oscar himself had been the one who'd sent for him, had him flown out from DC to aid Steve and Jaime back when Grant Kingsley was still known only as The Drill Man. He'd been immeasurably helpful ever since, remaining with the patients who needed him most, over the course of several _years_. Mark was one of the best at what he did, which was why Oscar had employed him in the first place. He seemed to have an almost eerie sense of where to be and when, often appearing (and sitting quietly) wherever trouble was about to crop up.

Finally, the call Oscar had been waiting for came from the lab. The only fingerprints on the little metal box belonged to Jack Hansen. They were back to Square One...or _were they_?

* * *

''Steve is in good hands,'' Mark told Jaime, dodging her question but still trying to soothe her. ''You're going to be just fine too.''

''And...Becca?''

''You'll be home with her in a day or two. Until then, she has her nurses. Try not to worry.''

''Okay...'' Jaime murmured, drifting off again.

Mark took the opportunity to make a few phone calls of his own. Becca was, indeed, doing well. She'd gone to sleep without incident. It helped immensely to keep a steady rotation of the same handful of nurses she was already familiar with - faces she'd known since birth. If she stayed home and remained in those same caring, well-known hands until her mother could be with her again (and hopefully her father, as well), Mark thought that would be the best thing for her. He then called and spoke with the Charge Nurses for the overnight shift at both of his own facilities. Everyone was doing well; there seemed to be no problems for him to deal with...and with Steve, there was nothing else _anyone_ could do right now except wait and hope that he was merely sleeping it off. Why, then, did Mark have this awful sense of foreboding that he couldn't seem to shake?

* * *

It was nearly morning before Russ was able to gather enough Intel to phone Oscar with an initial report. (He'd truly been burning the midnight oil, all night long, as this sort of inquiry often took _much_ longer. Russ would, of course, continue to look into it, but his preliminary findings showed absolutely no contact between Anna and Mark Conrad at any time or place, past or present. Oscar would have to go with his gut instinct on this one...and he did. Mark had spent more time with Jack Hansen than anyone else they were aware of. Whether he realized it or not, that made the therapist a prime target for Anna's madness through Jack's cooperation. Oscar had no choice; he found Mark at Jaime's bedside, observing his patient while she slept...and Oscar did what he knew he had to do.

''**_Mark Conrad, I'm placing you in OSI custody, pending a formal investigation_**...''

* * *

END OF EPISODE 6 - TO BE CONTINUED IN EPISODE 7: 'IN THE DARK OF NIGHT'  
- - - - -


End file.
